


HwtF Drabble Collection

by I_Mushi



Series: Home With the Fairies [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Annoying horses, BFFs, Children, Dentists, Drabble Collection, Elf/Human - Freeform, Erynion, F/M, Fluffy, Language Barrier, PWP, Pregnancy, Weddings, Wine, Written while tipsy, complaining, misteltoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 98,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Mushi/pseuds/I_Mushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are various drabbles written in the HwtF universe. Many are practices in explicit writing, pairings, or otherwise following plot lines that deviate too much from the HwtF story. None of these are betaed and several inspired under the influence of wine, so fair warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lazy Morning (Boromir/Maddie)

**Author's Note:**

> In some future where Maddie marries Boromir, they go to a court dinner, only for Maddie to have far too much wine and far too good a time prodding her husband into a little fun in bed.
> 
> And indeed the wine was terrible when I wrote this. This is an experiment of Boromir/Maddie and more explicit writing. Who knows, there may be others as I work out kinks in the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oneshot, complete fluff. A sleepy morning between Boromir and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer’s Note: So while working on Home With the Fairies, thinking about pairings for Maddie, and drinking wine, somehow I wrote porn. Despite reading copious amounts of X-rated material, I have yet to really write any of my own. This is my first foray into the good stuff, so let me know what you think.
> 
> (And for readers of Home With the Fairies, you can read this as Boromir/Maddie or simply Boromir/OC.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I make no money from this work. Anything recognizable from The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R Tolkien and affiliates.

I stirred, the sheets warm against my skin, and reached out one searching hand to the other side of the bed. Not finding him as I expected, I rolled over and cracked one eye open. “Boromir?”

“You will never wake until the sun is long risen,” my husband commented, but I only grunted and rolled over. He was far too much an early bird for my tastes. 

I felt the edge of the bed dip and his big hand run through my rat’s nest of hair. “I don’t think I will ever tire of this,” he murmured under his breath.

I reached up and blindly grabbed his arm, holding his hand to my cheek and giving his palm a chaste kiss. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sleep more or make love to my husband.

When his hand moved to caress my cheek, thumb brushing over my lips, the decision was made for me.

I nipped the pad of his thumb then swiped my tongue over it, and the groan it wrenched from his lips sent a shot of heat through my core. “The things you do to me…” he hissed, before leaning down and pressing a hard kiss to my lips. “The things I would do to you,” he said when he pulled back.

I whimpered, rolling over to lay on my back so he might lave kisses all over my throat. There was still the bruise of several nights before lingering on my collarbone, and I sighed as he bit a new one mark over it.

I helped him pull his tunic over his head, running my fingers through the smattering of hair across his chest, catching his nipples on the way. He shuddered, and I giggled as I scooted down to close my lips upon one.

“Sweet—“ he garbled something into a moan, and both his hands were planted just above my head, shaking like they might fall.

I kissed down his hard chest, worshipping the warm skin and the occasion scar from battle, thinking to take him into my mouth, when he pulled me up by the waist. “It is too early for games, my love,” he murmured against my mouth, and I hummed in pleasure. I was wet and wanting, pussy clenching in remembrance of the night before. Boromir could be so gently some nights, but sometimes—especially when he returned from outposts and battle—he could be rough and hungry. Right now I craved that side of him.

“I am ready,” I said against his mouth, but he only kissed me again, devouring me, his tongue against mine.

I jumped when I felt one calloused finger press against my bud, rubbing an insistent circle that had my hips rising to meet him and a moan break from me. My head was thrown back, and I felt him press a wet kiss to my throat, hand unceasing.

“Boromir, please… Please, Boromir…” I kept up the mantra as his fingers explored lower, thumb ever on my clit even as a broad finger pressed inside. “Mmmmmm,” I groaned, begging for more with my hips even as his mouth found my nipple and sucked it into glorious heat.

There was too much stimulation too early in the morning, and I felt myself start to unravel. My voice grew higher in volume as a second finger joined the first. “Boromir, Boromir, please, please!” The words became garbled as he gently bit down on the nub in his mouth while his thumb rubbed merciless circles on me. My hips jerked twice more before a wave of heat and fire crashed over me and I cried out his name.

My thrusts stuttered as I came down, and he slowed his ministrations, finally letting go of my nipple with a pop and his hands sliding out of my wetness. Sated, I watched him lazily lick his fingers clean, feeling a jolt run through me even after my recent climax.

My hand slipped over his back, simply holding him to me as he unlaced and slid off his breaches. He wore nothing underneath, his proud manhood jutting up, head red and weeping. “You are beautiful,” he murmured to me, and we kissed deeply once more as my hand gripped him.

“And you are perfect,” I whispered brokenly as I gave him a few experimental strokes, spreading his precome over his hardness. His hips juttered in anticipation, and I spread my legs so he was better seated. The warmth and weight of him above me was comforting in its familiarity.

I guided him into me, feeling the fullness and completion of all our couplings. With a second thrust he was seated fully, and one hand came up to cup my breast while the other cupped my cheek to lead me into a kiss.

It was smooth and passionate, and I felt the fire return a second time, the feeling building within me from our point of contact. Then he took both hands and lifted my legs, bending my knees and the next thrust hit that special spot inside.

“Boromir!” I cried, and he grinned at me, hair falling around his face as he drove in again just as hard and I wailed wordlessly.

His breath began to come harder, and our teeth clacked as we kissed. My hands ran up and down his back, feeling the muscles twitch and tense as he drove relentlessly into me. My hips rose up to meet him thrust for thrust, and I began to feel that familiar sensation building.

“Close, so close,” I said into his ear, and he took that as encouragement and brought one hand down to where we were connected. His finger traced the edges of my cunt, and I felt my whole body shudder at the thought of what it must feel like where we were connected. Then that calloused thumb found my center and it didn’t take more than a handful of thrusts to bring me screaming over the edge.

I flopped back boneless as he pounded into me, eventually stuttering to a halt as warmth filled my womb, my name a whisper on his lips. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and pulled him down to me for a kiss, much more gentle than the ones before.

I almost didn’t want him to, but he slipped out anyway and fell alongside me in the bed, pulling me into his chest. We both just breathed in each other for a while, coming down from the passion and the moment. I never felt safer than in Boromir’s arms and relished this lethargy.

It had to end though, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead and then a quick one to my mouth. “King Elessar has need of me this morning,” he told me, and I reluctantly let him escape my arms, already feeling the cold where he had laid.

“Must you?” I asked, though it was a silly question.

He shot me a look as he pulled on his breeches and all I did was lay there naked in bed and watch. I had the sudden urge to lean out and grope that tight ass but only just resisted. I did not think it would bring him back to bed otherwise I would have tried.

“You ask this every time.”

“I hope for a different answer.” I replied, and he pulled on his shirt and came round my side of the bed.

“I hope you will keep trying,” he said against my lips, and then I grasped him by the hair and pulled him down for a long, heated exchange he would feel for the whole meeting with the king.

“If you are quick you will have something to come back to,” I quipped, laying back to make sure he could see exactly what he was missing. The slight tenting of his pants didn’t go unnoticed.

“Does my lady-wife have nothing to do?” He joked, pulling on another layer even as his eyes lingered on my bare breasts.

“Wifely duty is very important, wouldn’t you say husband-mine?” I deliberately stretched my hands above my head, loving the way he stopped all action to watch me. Boromir could be so predictable at times—I loved it.

“If I go back to you we won’t be out of bed ‘til noon,” he admitted, and deliberately turned away after a beat. I had to resist the urge to pout. “If you’re so keen,” he said, and his eyes raked me once more as he pulled on his boots and walked to the door, “then wait for me just so. I won’t have duties again until the evening if I am lucky.”

“Then I will pray for your luck,” I said, watching my husband leave the room. I turned over to catch another hour or two’s worth of sleep, hoping to wake to Boromir’s kiss.


	2. This Wine is Terrible (Boromir/Maddie)

"This wine is terrible," I murmured under my breath, and Boromir squeezed my knee warningly. We were guests at Imrahil's table, and even though Boromir was no longer Steward of Gondor he was still Prince of Ithilien and couldn't afford to be rude.

"Hush, and drink your wine," he muttered, then deliberately turned away from me to engage so-and-so courtier next to him.

"Famous last words," I said under my breath in English, before grasping the wine glass by the stem and taking a long draught. I gave a second thought to what the alcohol content might be, but after years of drinking ale and mead like they were water it was going to take more than a glass of wine to get to me. Too bad there was no rum or tequila in Middle Earth. Someone needed to get on that.

That started a night of eating and drinking and much empty chatter with my neighbors. It was typical as far as court dinners went, but this time I had a particularly annoying neighbor who was driving me to pick up my wine glass more often than usual. She was the wife of a high-ranking soldier and complained bitterly about all his armor and weapons lying about. She also seemed to think sniffing in an obnoxious manner was attractive. Either that or the smell of the food was putting her off and she couldn't stop the reaction. By the third course I'd turned it into a drinking game: every time she made that horrible sniff I'd take a sip from my glass. It made the conversation infinitely more bearable.

Boromir, on the other hand, was deep into some discussion about river warfare and unable to save me from my neighbor or myself. When she'd started recounting stories about the jewelry she was wearing, I grew too bored for even the wine. My drink-emboldened fingers snuck under the edge of Boromir's tunic to touch skin instead, because my husband was always entertaining and I was having lascivious thoughts.

To his credit he didn't jump, but I saw his hand spasm around his own wine glass. When I glanced at mine it had been refilled, and I took another mouthful. I so did enjoy the perks of servants sometimes.

"So how do you find the suites in Ithilien, milady?" The annoying woman asked again, rekindling the conversation much to my annoyance. "I've heard their beauty is almost unmatched, especially the gardens. Why, my husband and I took a stroll through them once and it was just exquisite. Have you thought about a rose garden? After all the crest of Ithilien had roses on it, and as your husband is Prince of Ithilien it would be just fitting, now wouldn't it?"

Most of what she said was lost to me after she mentioned something about a husband. I was remembering a night on the way here with _my_ husband that was most definitely not appropriate for the dinner table, but I heard something about roses and princes. When she paused long enough for an answer, I said the first somewhat reasonable thing I could think of: "Oh the gardens are just _royal_ , and rose petals are so romantic," I said, giggling into my wine glass as I took another long sip. I wasn't sure what I was saying but who cares? My hand on Boromir's side was caressing the curve of his hip, and I was far more focused on that than the conversation. How many glasses was I on? Oh wait, I only had one wine glass, so that should count as only one drink.

Suddenly Boromir's broad hand was wrapped around my own and helping put the glass on the table. My other hand slipped out of his shirt in surprise and I pouted at him. "Have some of the potatoes, the gravy is delicious," he told me pointedly, with his serious face on, and I mimicked it but added my pout.

"Oh I'm quite full, my prince. I was telling Lady…" I wavered, having no idea her name and then shrugged, "…all about the gardens." I turned back to her deliberately, but I think only Boromir knew I was mocking her. "The big pink flowers should be in bloom soon. Some of Erynion's kin planted them. Can't remember their names at all, but you know Elvish names." I said that last bit in a conspiratorial whisper, and the lady look baffled by the turn of the conversation. Boromir looked like he wanted to roll his eyes.

He was quick to stop me when I lifted the wine glass again though, and this time I pulled his hand down under the table and set it on my thigh. If he was going to deny me my drink he was going to have to entertain me some other way. His hand flexed but didn't otherwise move, and I petted over his fingers absently, pleased when he caught mine in his grasp and held them. Boromir was rarely verbally affectionate but it was all in his actions.

Plus, I still had my left hand free, as I stole a drink from the wine glass when he looked away.

"You know," I turned to him after completely ignoring what else the woman had to say for a couple more minutes, the lanterns in the room spreading a warm flush across my skin. Or was that the wine? Lovely stuff really. "If you are the Prince of Ithilien does that make me a princess? I do believe I've now lived a fairy tale." This was most satisfying to my drunk mind. "I suppose Saruman can be the evil witch, and stopping Mordor is kind of like slaying a dragon." The woman next to me's painted-on eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Boromir also looked over confused, but more exasperated really. "I did get to travel with dwarves, though was it seven?" I pondered this while Boromir made some excuses to our host. ("Bofur would be Happy I suppose, but Nori? Gimli could be Grumpy…") I don't know what he said, but I made sure to throw in a compliment about the apple tarts, though my comment about the lack of poison in the apple was swallowed by Boromir's arm when he drew me away.

"You are lucky the dinner was winding down," he said gruffly, but he didn't sound all that annoyed. My hand had crept up the back of his shirt again and was running over the small of his back. He didn't know it, but he had a dimple on one side that I could never stop kissing whenever I saw it. In fact, that sounded like a brilliant idea.

"What are you doing?" He asked in frustration, but it was a rhetorical question. When I stumbled but refused to stop lifting his shirt he leaned down and picked me up bridal style.

"Now this really is a fairy tale!" I exclaimed, but he rolled his eyes.

"In what Elvish tale is a woman so drunk she accosts her husband in the corridor and rambles about things no one but her understands?"

There wasn't a word in Westron for "fairy", but the closest thing was "Elf". I hadn't quite realized I'd translated it that way until now. I put my arms around Boromir's neck and magnanimously offered to clear this up.

"No, no, not Elvish, silly. Fairy," I pronounced in English, but Boromir didn't seem to be paying me much mind. Luckily there were no servants around as he juggled me to open the door. I pressed a kiss to his cheek and muttered fairy, which caused him to stumble a little, or maybe that was the other groping hand. "Are we crossing the threshold?" I asked suddenly, very much distracted from my talk of fairy tales. "You know, in my home this is a tradition between newlyweds."

This time he frowned, and I cupped his cheek so he wouldn't look so sad. Boromir was certainly grim, but that made every smile of his more worth it. "It's not an important tradition," I said, somehow guessing the reason for his look despite the room spinning a little. His grey eyes were the only things that weren't. "If you are upset though, we can still pretend it's the wedding night." I tried to wiggle my eyebrows, but I don't think it worked if his incredulous look was anything to go by.

"You are a terribly forward drunk."

"I think the wine got a lot better as the night went on." He lowered me slowly to the bed, but I locked my arms around his neck so he couldn't stand up straight, and continued on conversationally. "Did you have some? You know, I believe this is a water bed."

In the privacy of our guest rooms he looked more relaxed than before, and I drunkenly hoped more interested in my advances. I don't remember when, but he must have loosened the top of his tunic because I could see the dip of his collarbone and the edge of a bruise I had left there on that night by the campfire. It made my mouth water.

"I do not know what a water bed is," he said slowly, putting both hands on the bed so we were eye level. I felt a bit like prey in a lion's eyes, except this was a good feeling. A very good one. "But I am sure you have drunk far too much wine."

"Nonsense," I said, pulling him down and pressing my lips to the corner of his mouth. They quirked up every time I did this, and I grinned at him. "I was definitely about this drunk at our wedding. All that Elvish wine."

Boromir's hands went to my hips, and I was suddenly lifted and dropped several feet further on the bed than I was before. It was a bit disorienting, but he was now hands and knees on the bed so I got over the confusion quickly. That look on his face was enough to make me wet.

"Did you eat _anything_ at dinner?" He asked wryly, but his hands were going for the lacings on my dress so I didn't mind the question. I would have helped, but when I clumsily tried to he batted my hands away.

"Of course I did sweet husband." I carded my hands through his soft hair instead, scratching at his scalp and loving the moan that always pulled from him. Sometimes in the early morning I would do this, and he would wake with the most beautiful sleepy smile on his face. I vowed to do it more often as I thought of it. "But Lady what's-her-face would not stop complaining. There's only so much I can take of that, and you were just sitting there."

"What's-her-face?" He asked in confusion at my terrible translation, and I ignored his question in favor of hooking a leg behind his knee and pulling him down into a kiss.

I was definitely clumsier than normal but it didn't matter much because it was a hot and wet and perfect. Boromir was a focused kisser, full of intention and tightly wound passion. His kisses always made me feel like I was the center of his world, and it sent a frission of heat and love through me. He licked into my mouth and tangled with my tongue, and all I could register was the feel of him pressed against me and the feel of his muscles in my hands as I tried to hold on for the assault.

When we eventually pulled apart I was panting, and I pulled my hands from where they'd slipped up his back around, caressing abs and ribs and hips desperately. "I want you."

"Wanton," he murmured into my throat; "Minx," he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my fluttering pulse before redoubling his efforts to untie the dress so he could pull it off. I was definitely brazen compared to most Middle Earth women, but I really didn't care now. Drink only loosened my tongue, and I had a feeling Boromir enjoyed it by the tenting in his pants.

"Don't tease," I whispered breathily, not feeling shy at all. I felt wanted and adored, and I wanted to show him that. "Make love to me. I want you inside me, your hands on me. I want to feel it tomorrow when I wake, and the bruises to stay with me when you leave. I want your kisses like air and your tongue—"

He devoured me with his mouth this time, no longer toying, pressing me back into the bed and hands hiking up my dress. It was sloppier but just as good, and I knew I'd pressed a button. Dirty talk wasn't my forte, but Boromir loved it anyway.

He pulled away too soon and quickly pulled off his shirt, nearly ripping it in his haste. I didn't get the chance to admire though before he pulled my dress down to my waist. I pulled my arms free and the moment he could he pressed a wet kiss to the side of my breast.

"Boromir," I gasped, as he worked his way around with his lips then finally drew my nipple into the heat of his mouth. He cupped the other in his rough palm, and there was nothing that turned me on more than the feeling of those calloused hands on me. Knowing that they were toughed by swords and shields and yet so soft and careful with me made it so much hotter.

I was barely registering what I was saying anymore, but it sounded like pleading. He just laughed as he kissed further down, amused by my mix of English and Westron. "I've barely touched you my love," he said wickedly, voice dropping an octave. "Surely I haven't neglected you?"

Boromir never talked much during sex, but when he did he teased like this, and the way his hands slid purposefully up my thighs but didn't touch where I ached most just underlined his words. I bucked my hips to encourage him, but he ignored the silent urging. He deliberately rasped his stubble against the inside of my breast, and I arched up for more contact. Still he denied me, and I whined low in my throat.

"Boromir," I groaned, "I want… please!" My dress bunched as my waist as he suddenly sucked the other nipple into his mouth. I tossed my head against the bed and begged in English for more. Everything was heightened with the drink still in me, and the haze of our lovemaking was heady. I didn't want it to stop, but I wanted to reach my peak just as much.

Then his calloused thumb was pressing against my most sensitive parts, and I shrieked in surprise at the stimulation, hips jerking with unexpected pleasure. One thick finger sunk into me at the same time, but I didn't notice as I arched, the way his thumb pressing down on me too good not to react.

"Just like that," he murmured against my belly, eyes riveted to my breasts. I knew what he liked, and it always made me bold. I threw my hands above my head and clung to the sheets, arching again when a second finger entered me. The fire in his grey eyes as he watched my breasts bounce with the movement was worth it. When my belly brushed against his, it was too much, and he hauled himself up and sealed his lips against mine.

That was all the preparation either of us could stand. My fingers weren't coordinated enough to get his pants off, so he pulled two of them into his mouth instead as he shucked his clothes. I moaned in delight and rubbed my thumb across his jaw as his tongue swirled around them. Who would have guessed Boromir would be so adept at this? "I really do love you." It was a silly sentiment to think of in the heat of the moment, but the way it made his fingers tremble as he shrugged the last clothes off and how tightly he gripped my waist as he pulled me up for a kiss showed me what it meant.

"Beautiful creature," he whispered between kisses, and I was so consumed by his mouth that I didn't even feel him against me until he was sinking in.

"How I love you," he whispered against side of my mouth as he hips touched mine, fully seated. My heart felt full with love, and I pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his temple that had nothing to do with sex before I pulled his head back to look him dead in the eye.

"Then make love to me husband."

He pulled out almost to the tip, then slammed back in roughly, and I yelped with glee and surprise. It wasn't always like this, but gods, when it was…

I know I would have been embarrassed with how loud I moaned his name as he rolled one nipple between his fingers, but I couldn't be bothered with social propriety. Instead I gripped the strong muscles in his back and held on as wave after wave of pleasure hit me, and when he shifted his hips and slammed in again he hit that perfect spot.

It only took two more thrusts, and then I was scrabbling at his back, fingernails raking lines I would trace tomorrow, his name on my lips as waves of carnal pleasure rushed over me. When I felt blissfully satiated I fell back on the bed and pressed my lips to his shoulder, closing my eyes as he followed me over the edge, spending himself inside me. My name was whispered so intimately that it was as heartbreaking as it was passionate. Gods did I love this man.

There was something comforting about Boromir's weight on me, like the world couldn't get me when he was between it and me. I rubbed light circles with my thumb against his warm skin, one hand dipping down to find that dimple on his back, and kept brushing my lips over the parts of him I could reach. I didn't want to separate, but too soon he rolled to the side and pulled out.

I buried my face against his chest, and when I realized his nipple was within reach I couldn't deny the automatic urge to lick it. His hand in my hair jumped, and he let out a weak chuckle. "Give me a moment, beloved."

"Mm," I murmured distractedly. A thin scar from an arrow wound was on the closest shoulder, and I knew that mark well. He'd gotten it years ago in a clearing in Amon Hen. I traced the outline with my tongue, feeling lethargic but still awake enough for this.

"Sleep," he murmured, the hand in my hair pulling me away so he could turn on his side. His lips grazed my cheek, and I smiled at the affection of the action. "There is plenty of time for that later if my lady desires."

He helped me roll over so we were spooning, and gently slid my hair over one shoulder so he had free access to my neck. I arched back when I felt his lips on the edge of my shoulder and throat. "If you keep doing that, later may mean now," I told him only half-jokingly. I wasn't ready for another round yet, but I wasn't opposed if he wanted to warm me up.

Boromir laughed though, and met my upturned lips for one more lingering kiss, filled with love and appreciation. After all the waiting, and enduring separation and cultural barriers, we'd built something deeper than either of us believed. And now I didn't know how I'd ever gone without.

I drifted off to sleep then, one hand resting on his, dreaming of horses and wine and making love by those big, pink Elvish flowers.


	3. Should Have Named Her "Fall" (Éomer/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éomer speaks terrible English, but Maddie tries valiantly to get him to say some, even as her Rohirric languishes. At least Elfwine's name is pronounceable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer’s Note: Partially out of laziness and also because I’m uncertain about the background of Elfwine’s name, I opted to simply assume Éomer named his son and not Lothiriel, even as I utterly erased her from the picture. Also, all Rohirric here is actually just Old English, as very few Rohirric words are known. I know nothing about Old English, so please overlook my egregious mistakes.

“Thunor, stop it!” I snapped for the third time, but the damn horse didn’t listen to me anymore than he had since I first met him. Éomer snorted into his fist. He found my relationship with Thunor to be an endless source of amusement. “You leave the pony alone.”

Sometimes I thought Thunor was the most arrogant and unfriendly horse you could meet. And then he was like a puppy with Legolas and best buddies with Éomer’s Firefoot. But the moment you put him with any horse that was even a hair shorter than him or not a Mearas and he turned into a bully. Like right now, as he whacked the other horse with his tail harder than I’m sure was ever strictly necessary.

“Ought-um is tough,” Éomer insisted, while also mangling the name I’d given the pony.

“ _Autumn_ ,” I repeated, trying not to sound like I hadn’t been correcting him for the last two days. I didn’t really have a leg to stand on though, because Éomer was still correcting my pronunciation of Rohirric at every turn even after two years of living in Meduseld. Therefore at the first chance I got to name something I’d jumped on something English, only to find that Éomer’s English sucked as much as my Elvish. That is, he spoke almost none and garbled what he did.

At least our son’s name wasn’t terribly difficult to pronounce. I’d been worried with some of the ones Éomer and Éowyn had pitched, but even I knew a “foreign” name like mine wouldn’t really be appropriate for a future king of Rohan. Elfwine, our son, was just now two-and-a-half years old, and Autumn was to be his first pony for him to learn to ride alone on.

The little boy was almost dancing in place beside me, as Éomer checked the saddle and reins again. While it made me nervous to put my son on a horse already (Éomer still found it both bizarre and funny that I hadn’t learned to ride until I was almost twenty-five), I knew Éomer was being very careful. He never checked the tack as much as this, shifting the saddle just a little bit more for the third time.

“Mama, will I get to ride Thunor after Autumn?” Elfwine shared his hair and eyes with his father, but I was rather pleased that he definitely had my nose that I’d inherited from my grandmother. He looked up at me now, wiggling in place with excitement.

“Not until you’re bigger. Thunor’s almost too big for me.”

Éomer’s smacked his hands together to get rid of the dust as he came over. “Yes. Your mother still needs help getting on his back.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t dignify that with a response. The one time in the last two years I’d stumbled my mount on Thunor was of course in front of him. And a year later, Éomer still couldn’t resist the urge to mention it. 

“Now let’s get you up on _Autumn_ ,” Éomer said, stretching the vowels longer as he carefully pronounced it. He winked at me when my lips twitched.

Elfwine was plenty familiar with horses—this was Rohan after all—so he was careful with Autumn, patting her nose gently and making sure Éomer had done alright with the bit and reins. The pony had been a surprise for him, and when he’d met her outside Meduseld his young voice hit octaves that made Éomer wince.

Autumn wasn’t a birthday present, but more of a right-of-passage gift. Unsurprisingly, many of Rohan’s traditions were rooted in horse culture, and one of them was a child’s first ride alone on a horse. When Éomer had first brought it up I’d been rather terrified of the idea of my tiny child sitting on a horse by himself. Éomer found my maternal worry endearing but also silly. Only a horse-lord could say there was nothing to fear from sticking his two-year-old child on a horse.

Thunor, who I had ridden out on, whacked me with his tail since he’d been deprived of Autumn—Éomer had shoved him away like he was a stubborn cow. (Predictably, Éomer and Thunor didn’t always get along.) Firefoot loitered nearby, staring sleepily out at the plains. Both of them were getting old by horse years. I patted Thunor absently, watching Éomer try to play stern father while hiding his grin.

Once Elfwine was situated safely, Éomer took the lead rope and slowly worked Autumn in circles so the little boy could get accustomed to the feel of the horse alone. Seeing my son going round and round and expecting a wave and smile every time he passed me, made me remember carousels and my parents hanging on the fence waving to me. I couldn’t help thinking of my parents and what they would think of Elfwine. He didn’t have grandparents, since Éomer’s were gone, but Éowyn and Faramir spoiled him rotten when they’d visited not long after his first birthday. He hadn’t met Boromir or Erynion yet, but Aragorn had mentioned offhand once about the Elves’ fascination with children, seeing as they had so few of their own. It put a smile on my face, imagining Erynion with Elfwine. Would Elfwine demand to be carried, or shown his bow? Would he want an Elvish song? And more importantly, I snickered to myself, how far would stiff-necked Erynion bend over backwards for a little boy?

“Alright, good. You’ve got the reins now,” Éomer instructed, checking Elfwine’s hands before unsnapping the lead. He stayed right by the pony’s side as Elfwine slowly walked the pony on his own, then experimented with more of a trot.

The sun was warm on this grassy spot outside Edoras, the tall stalks scratchy against my ankles. Elfwine looked utterly thrilled, glowing with excitement. “Look Mama, look!” he would call occasionally, as I tried not to look like I was drifting off in the lazy heat of Rohan’s summer. I watched as Elfwine took Autumn at a slow trot in a circle grinning madly at me. Éomer’s eyes jumped to mine, and his whole face was lit up with joy and pride, a look almost as strong as they day the midwife put the babe in his arms.

“I want to ride back to Meduseld!” Elfwine declared, but Éomer shot that one down. It was one thing to do circles on a flat plain, another to navigate Edoras’ streets.

Éomer mounted up on Firefoot gracefully, and the two trotted around the area for a while more. I thought about getting on Thunor and joining them, but thought twice when I imagined Thunor being that close to Autumn again. Eventually Elfwine began to tire, and with gentle clicking noises he mimicked from his father, our son slowed the pony to a stop. It took some coaxing to get Elfwine off Autumn, who he now completely adored and insisted on holding the lead rein for on the way home. When Éomer had him in his arms, he smacked a kiss to the side of Elfwine’s head, holding him almost triumphantly.

“Our son is a rider! As though he were born on a horse.” Elfwine giggled as Éomer’s whiskers rubbed his cheek, and I laughed as I came over to congratulate them both.

“He most certainly was not, but you already look a horse-lord.” Elfwine accepted kisses from us both, grin splitting his face, and I made sure to get Éomer with a kiss too. If only I had a camera, a tiny part of me whispered.

Éomer whistled over Thunor and even cheekily offered to give me a boost up. If he hadn’t been holding Elfwine I might have kicked him as I got in the saddle, but I had to settle for a jab about it being Boromir’s job instead.

“Do you want to ride with _modor_ or me?” Éomer asked Elfwine, who tugged on Autumn’s lead. The moment the pony got close enough, Thunor’s tail swung out and smacked her, and I cuffed Thunor on the hindquarters.

“Firefoot,” Elfwine decided, probably thanks to Thunor being a brat.

When we got back to Meduseld, Éomer made sure Elfwine helped with removing Autumn’s tack (or rather, folding the saddle blanket since he couldn’t reach much else). Once everything was put away and I made sure Thunor wasn’t next to Autumn so he could further bother the pony, we all headed back to our quarters. Elfwine ran up the steps and burst inside so he could tell Fromgast, his tutor, all about riding Autumn. Éomer accepted handshakes from the men outside, and I followed Elfwine in, only thinking about how lovely a bath my feel.

When I got back to our rooms I started to take the wretched pins and clips out of my hair. Tonight would be a family dinner as a small celebration to complete the day, so there wasn’t any need for formality. I could also ditch the riding dress, which had a skirt cut specifically for riding astride, but was mostly a pain when you weren’t on a horse.

“I was hoping I might get to do that,” a voice said behind him, sounding smug. I turned my head to see my husband leaning on the doorjamb, one hand still raised with a pin I’d just pulled free.

“You know perfectly well there are a dozen more.” I gave him an inviting smile, and Éomer pushed off the jamb to take me up on my offer.

“Our son did well today,” he said softly as hair came loose from the fancy twist and I could relax a little more.

“Yes, he’s a natural.”

“If only I’d been able to see your first time on a horse.” I snorted, a very unladylike noise. Éomer huffed a laugh over the shell of my ear, pulling the last pin out. “Or rather, your first time on Thunor.”

“Why are we still talking about horses?” I asked, turning around. Éomer’s husky tone was putting a lot of others things to mind.

His hands slipped around my waist, pulling me up onto my tiptoes so he could kiss all the thoughts from me. He smelled of hay and grass and the winds of the plains, and he tasted the like the freedom the horses gave us.

As we pulled apart, his hands slid up my back to the ties of the dress, and he laughed when my hair got in the way of the ties. “Turn around, _leof_ , so I can free you from this. One day it might be simpler.”

“You would love zippers,” I snickered as I turned around and pulled my hair aside.

“Zippers?” he inquired as the ties loosened and the front of the dress dipped forward. Before I could turn he pulled me back against him and began to press open-mouthed kisses to my shoulder as the dress slid down my arms.

I shook my head, mostly because I didn’t want to think anymore. Éomer was more coherent though, and felt like teasing. “Will you not at least tell me what ‘aught-tum’ means?”

“No,” I said, breathier than I meant to, because both of his hands had come around the cup my breasts through the thin shift. “You’ll just call her by the Rohirric word.”

He pressed a denial in Rohirrim to my throat, but I understood enough by now to know what he said. “Kisses won’t get you anywhere, my _cyning_ ,” I warned him, calling him king in Rohirric because it tended to distract him in bed.

Unfortunately, what was more distracting was the knock on the door. When it came a second time, Éomer groaned aloud and took a step back, his hair and clothes disheveled. I rather wanted to grab him by the loose shirt and kiss him hard to add to the debauchery, but it was too late for that.

I pulled my dress up and slipped off to the side where no one could see me from the doorway, while Éomer had a quick conversation in Rohirric with a guard. “There are several farmers who wish to see me,” he explained swiftly as he tucked in the shirt I’d pulled loose and went hunting for a suitable cloak. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“I understand,” I told him, because I hadn’t married the king of Rohan without knowing what that would mean. I tried to sort out his hair while he buttoned up the over shirt and pulled on the cloak. Once it didn’t look quite like my hands had been running through it moments before, he cupped my face and pulled me up for a searing kiss. “You’ll mess up your hair!” I complained when he pulled back, but he had a boyish smile on his face that couldn’t be touched.

“And if all the men in Rohan know that I lay with my wife what then? Is not our son proof enough?”

“That’s not the point,” I argued. “You shouldn’t go to your court looking a mess.”

If Éomer hadn’t grown a little more serious after the war and his duties as king, he might have rolled his eyes at me. As it were, he still chuckled a bit at my worry. “Today is a day to celebrate for our family. If my wife did not kiss me I’d be more concerned!” He kissed me hard again, nearly knocking the loosened dress off my shoulders with his passion, eyes glittering as he pulled back. “Later,” he promised. His thumb rubbed against my cheek for a moment, eyes bright, before he finally left to see to his people.

I had to hastily redress when Fromgast knocked on the door moments later with a certain dimpled boy with those same bright eyes and a face smeared in apple pie. Even as I made Elfwine turn around and apologize to the cook, I couldn’t help running my fingers through his thick hair, just the same as his father’s.

“If he is half as good as his father, then he will be a great king,” the tutor said to me, and I knew the same feeling that had overwhelmed Éomer out in the field: pride for my son, the boy I had birthed and raised—even if he snuck tastes of his dessert before dinner.

“Did you know,” Fromgast continued, “that they are calling the King, Éomer Éadig, meaning ‘the Blessed’? Already coffers are fuller than they have been in years, and many come from afar to trade with the horse lords again.”

“Wait, they call him what?” I repeated, not hearing anything about food and trade.

“Éomer Éadig.”

“Say it more slowly,” I said, already wondering how long it was going to take Éomer to find out I couldn’t say it and what it was going to take to get him to forget.

* * *

“Our son is a poor actor,” Éomer said conversationally from where he laid on the bed, watching me brush my hair. The comb was inlaid with gold in the shape of a horse’s head, a courting gift from him. I resolutely focused on brushing my hair and not his bare chest and shoulders. He had a warrior’s body, and even after two years it could be surprisingly distracting.

“I told him to act surprised when he saw the pie.”

“Did you?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“He was a little dramatic.” It was an understatement, but I had been more concerned with making sure Elfwine knew he’d done wrong than whether the surprise was spoiled.

I set the comb down and wandered over to the bed, eyes lingering on the muscles that corded his chest and arms. When I slid into bed and curled into his side he pressed a kiss to my hair, running his fingers through the long strands. “I also heard,” he murmured softly, “they call me ‘the Blessed’ in Rohirric.”

“I should say _I_ am the blessed with such a husband,” I joked, sliding my foot up his leg with great intent. I’d had a feeling Fromgast would let it slip that I bungled his title, so I was going to head off the teasing if I could.

“Madeline Éa…” he trailed off expectantly, waiting for me to finish the damn word in Rohirric. I was going to practice saying it before he ever heard it from me. Instead I slid my hand across his flat abs, scratching my nails as I knew he liked right across the sensitive ribs. He caught my hand before I could do anything more though, not going along with my unsubtle hints.

“Madeline the Blessed,” I said in English stubbornly, refusing to use even the Westron. Two could play this game.

“Queen Madeline, wife of King Éomer Éa…” he paused, but when I didn’t finish it he shrugged and began to pull the nightgown I was wearing off and kept talking. “…Queen of Rohan, Lady of the Secret Fire, friend of Elves, and speaker of English, Westron, and… _some_ Rohirric.”

This time I pinched him, once for the Lady of Secret Fire jab—because really, they still called me that sometimes in Minas Tirith, and Erynion thought it absolutely hilarious—and once for “ _some_ Rohirric”.

“King Éomer of Rohan, father of Elfwine, warrior of the War of the Ring, and man who speaks _no_ English. Elfwine speaks more than you do.” I’d made sure our son spoke a little, if only to preserve some of my previous life. The word _modor_ for mother also sounded so grim to my ears.

Éomer tangled my hands in the nightgown as he pulled it over my head, and once it was off completely he rolled me under him and caught both my wrists in one of his rough hands. “Elfwine has no one to speak your English with except you.”

“And you, if you could say anything at all.” I didn’t try to teach Éomer much though, mostly because it he had more important things to think about, and because if I had to hear him mangle “autumn” one more time I’d probably bruise something important.

“Elfwine should have a companion to speak it with. At least to share secrets,” Éomer argued though I was only half listening. He hands and mouth were busy when he wasn’t speaking, and it was making thinking difficult.

“You want me to—” embarrassingly breathy moan—“teach someone English?”

“I was thinking—” he murmured, as he slid down all the way to rest his chin on my stomach, hair tickling my thighs. I quivered a bit at the fleeting stimulation near my most sensitive area—“perhaps a brother or sister.”

Then he dipped his head and sealed his mouth to me, and all thoughts of more children flew out of my mind until I was tangling my hands in that beautiful hair and holding on for the ride. He didn’t let up the assault until I was so sensitive I was pushing him away. Éomer licked his glistening lips looking particularly smug, but I was trying to stop the room from spinning.

When I did catch my breath though I tugged him by the hair to give him a solid kiss. “That’s not how you make children.”

“You’ll have to show me then,” he said laughingly, rolling over so I could straddle him and settling his hands on my hips. His hair fanned out behind him, and I took the opportunity to run my hands up and down that toned chest, still feeling a bit of the afterglow but also ready to return the favor. His hardness jumped a bit against me as I ran just the soft pad of my finger around a nipple.

“I’ll make it a double lesson, since you’ve already paid once. In English, we call this _making love_.” I sank down on him, and Éomer’s mouth fell open a little like it always did, like he couldn’t quite believe it every time. I loved that look.

“Isn’t that the same word as…?”

“Yes,” I nodded, squeezing my inner muscles a little just to laugh as his hands reflexively twitched on my hips and a Rohirric curse slipped from him. I’d taught him “I love you” in English, one of the few phrases he’d really wanted to learn. “It literally means _machian lufu_ ,” I translated, and he huffed a laugh even as our hips found the rhythm we knew so well.

“I like that,” he replied. “You always say—” he thrust up a bit harder, grinning at the noise it drew from me—“that repetition is key—” I leaned forward to kiss him before he could finish, no longer interested in anything outside of this bed. But we did repeat the words. Or rather, the meaning, because by the time I fell asleep, sated and warm in Éomer’s arms, I’d long forgotten the lesson.


	4. A Smile Worth a Thousand Words (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of what might be Maddie and Erynion's relationship in an alternate universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: A lot of HwtF fans were hoping to see more Erynion and asked about an Elf/Human relationship with him and Maddie. In my attempt at realism Elf/Human pairings were a strict no-no, but in an alternate universe… well, it was interesting to try. It's hard to capture the mystery and agelessness of the Elves, but I gave it a shot.

An Elves' talan was generally a spartan place by human standards, and certainly by the ones I had lived by in my home world. Erynion kept only clothes, weapons, and travel packs in his talan, and didn't spend much time there. As a human though, I brought a host of differences with me into this relationship, not the least of which was a perchance for knick-knacks and a desire for something a little cozier. Even years after moving in it seemed to alternately amuse and catch Erynion off guard.

"It was a gift from Bofur, the dwarf. Remember my wooden one? He made another when we came to visit."

Erynion picked up the metal horse to examine its craftsmanship, his thin lips curling downward slightly at the ends. I rolled my eyes at his typical expression when it came to anything Dwarvish. Even as we'd stood in the splendor of Erebor he'd managed to maintain a certain veiled hostility. I couldn't even pretend to understand the Elves' relationship with Dwarves, but I refused to be dragged into it one way or another.

"Why display it here?"

"Because it's beautiful and holds memories." The concept of knick-knacks seemed to go over the heads of most Elves. I didn't have many odds and ends, but after growing up in a cluttered house and then always traveling Middle Earth I relished a place to put all the little things I'd collected. It made me feel a lot more settled having mementos like this out, even as I continued to drag Erynion around the world. In fact, we'd only returned two days ago from visiting Erebor and Eryn Lasgalen (Erynion preferred the Elvish name, and "Mirkwood" _was_ awfully dour).

"Can you not recall him without looking at it?"

"That's not the point," I groused, but even as I turned away I saw Erynion put the model horse back down on the table gently. The first time I'd met him—and really, the second and third times too—Erynion had been a taciturn but frustrating presence. But as the aftermath of the War of the Ring began to hit us all, and I began to long to leave Minas Tirith and see new sites again, it was amazingly Erynion who understood better than anyone. He had gone with me when I left with Legolas and Gimli to Fangorn Forest the first time, and we'd stuck together ever since.

"Come, Thunor is below."

We climbed down the ladder of the talan and on to the soft carpet of the forest. Erynion didn't live in Caras Galadhon but an outlying spoke of the city. It was much quieter (not that any Elven city was particularly loud) and more private, which I greatly appreciated given the oddity of my living here to begin with. Elvish-human relationships were the height of rarity, and while I couldn't say they were frowned upon exactly it was definitely peculiar. Elves were generally non-judgmental of each other, but then again they weren't as diverse as humans. Still, I sensed that Erynion's choice did make waves in the community. It was all in the subtle looks of consternation and the berth I was given. I didn't know how Erynion managed to navigate it, but more than once I'd had reservations that he had quickly put to rest. If he could weather it, so could I.

Standing by a tree were the two horses, Thunor and Eirien. Eirien was Erynion's, the name meaning "daisy". Truthfully, I hadn't known what her name meant for the first year and a half I spent with Erynion because I didn't understand the Westron translation. It wasn't until we actually rode by a small patch of daisies in northern Gondor and Erynion explained that I understood. He'd rather liked the English word for them.

Eirien was a gentle mare, more suited for Sunday rides than distance traveling, but she was also an Elvish horse and served Erynion well. I'd always imagined Erynion having a snappy horse or at least a male one, more along the lines of Thunor really. However, her line of horses when back to Erynion's father, so his family had always ridden one of them.

In Erynion's hand there appeared a crabapple, which Thunor immediately trotted over to snatch up before I could knock it out of the Elf's hand. Eirien just flicked an ear, not interested in Thunor's antics. "Oh, you're spoiling him!"

Erynion just gave me that half-smile of his that said he knew well why it annoyed me and that he'd keep doing it just for that. I played up my grievance because stopping Erynion from his amusement was as hard as pulling a hobbit from his food. "You might as well ride him since we all know he loves you best."

The annoying elf stroked Thunor's forehead where a small patch of white rested, but then he moved away from the horse and over to me. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek in an affectionate gesture as understated and meaningful as befitted an Elf. "I can only buy his love for a short while, but you have earned it forever."

I couldn't help smiling, and his lips twitched up too, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

* * *

We rode a fair distance that day as an easy pace to a spot Erynion wanted to show me. We followed a tributary river to the Anduin some ways, at points almost a brook and at others a busy, babbling creek. Then we broke away from the river and deeper into the forest until it was easy to forget there was anything in the world other than the silver trees.

The dappled Eirien was a good friend of Thunor's—good enough I was already thinking up names for a foul come next spring—and she looked especially beautiful under the slanting rays of sun. Erynion too looked good, as Elves generally did, with all the whipcord strength of his people in those supple hands, his skin flawless and glowing slightly in the sun, like he was made of light and greenery and wind and not dirt and flesh like me. It truly baffled me sometimes that I had some claim to an Elf.

He looked over his shoulder at me, green eyes bright and always a bit amused, and I followed my first impulse to kick Thunor's sides and overtake Erynion with a burst of speed.

Elvish horses are fast, and obviously the riders are a lot more skilled at navigating than I am, but it hardly mattered where we were going or who was winning, because as the wind blew back my hair and Thunor stretched out his neck to gallop, I felt I could taste the sunshine as much as I could see it. The wood became just a blur of silver and green spotted with gold.

When Erynion pulled up alongside me after some minutes, I laughingly twisted Thunor to the side, dashing off in another direction and giggling into the destrier's dark mane. It didn't take more than a minute though for the elf to catch up, and I was pleased to see a smile crossing his features.

By some unspoken agreement we slowed to a trot and then gently a walk, and then it was my turn to reach out and touch his lips with a fingertip. "You really ought to smile more."

"As you do, whenever a pretty thing catches your eye?" I would have once thought his words derisive or at the very least dismissive, but I knew Erynion better now. He was old. Older than I could really understand, though I'm glad to say he never put a number to it. In all his years he'd seen the most beautiful things and the most ugly, witnessed countless civilizations destroyed and rebuilt, and watched both endless and short-lived loves. When you have thousands of years to see the ups and downs of life, it all becomes one rolling line; the hills of emotions stop affecting you so much. That was why he didn't smile as often, though he said he felt as strongly as ever—it just took more to make him show it.

But I was young, as inconceivably young to him as he was old to me. He could hardly remember a time when the world had been so fascinating, everything so fresh and new, still with wonder always on the horizon. I liked to think I gave some of that youth back to him, as much as he gave me the wisdom my short lifespan might leave me without. It was why I insisted on always doing something; even if it was only getting him to teach me how to thoroughly fail at archery (I was better with a sword, though carrying both sword and shield was incredibly wearisome) or to visit some far-off place. It was also why he insisted on stopping and standing sometimes just to soak it in.

"There are smiles and then there are smiles," I told him, mostly to see his eyebrow quirk like it did when I said something a little odd, usually when a translation didn't go right. "I smile when I see a huge tree, because it has stood for a thousand years and ever grows, so tall and wide, with shade for lengths and lengths. Then there is a smile for when you sing, because it is precious and special, and it makes my heart… grow big."

I'd learned a lot of poetry from the Elves, because there was really no other way to describe them. Sure, it was often a challenge, but the hidden expression in Erynion's face was well worth the effort. He caught my hand in his before I could pull it away, shifting his mare closer. He pressed a kiss against the back of my hand that said a hundred things no Elvish poetry could match, that no long nights in each others' arms or love letters could hope to say. That was the way the Elves loved: wholly, deeply, promises made in heart and action and sometimes song, because you didn't need lust and flowers to understand it.

It had taken me a long time to appreciate that, twice as long as it had taken me to realize Erynion's feelings, because Elvish courting is subtle, and there were no convenient rules about movies and dinner or announcements and roses, and especially not between a Human and an Elf. (So… a very long time. Luckily, Erynion seemed to realize it eventually and managed to be a bit more direct.)

I rode the rest of the way remembering the last time I'd heard Erynion sing. It had been on the way back to Lothlórien from the Lonely Mountain after we'd passed through Eryn Lasgalen and started the same southward road Erynion and I had once walked from Rivendell. We'd found a grassy hillock, peaceful and safe, and Erynion had softly sung me stories of the stars, tracing their shapes in the sky until I'd fallen asleep.

I didn't quite realize I was humming one of the songs until Erynion's lilting voice joined me, only singing the melody without words. It carried me through the silver woods of Lothlórien like in a dream, full of soft edges and pleasant thoughts, untainted. He continued to hum it as he dismounted and helped me down, and I flowed into his arms so I could hear the very music rising from his heart. He pressed the words of the stars and their names in Elvish to my hair, and we swayed to their joys and sorrows, and the eternal light they shared with the world. We stayed pressed together from toes to head, until finally Erynion's voice slipped away like summer wind, and the tears that I hadn't even realized I was crying started to dry.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, my face still a little wet, and he cupped it in both hands to kiss me fully, as heartfelt as the music. I had to laugh a little brokenly as we pulled apart. "You always make me cry."

"If you laugh you could not hear it, so you cry." I muffled a snort as I wiped my face of the last shreds of tears, because that was so typically Erynion. No apology and no attempt to comfort when there wasn't really pain. "Come, I would show you what I brought you here to see."

He put his hand between my shoulder blades as though to guide, but it was more than that. It wasn't an apology, just a promise of support when he drove me to such emotion. In a relationship with an elf, that was often a very real risk.

"I wonder," I said softly, as I crunched through the undergrowth and Erynion was silent, "if I could overwhelm you with emotion. I know Elves cry too when they hear the most beautiful of music." At the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, the Evenstar had sung, reducing humans to blubbering messes and even the most elegant of Elves into masks of both misery and joy.

We took several more steps in silence before Erynion's hand brushed the top of my head. "You're hair is wet," he said, before moving ahead and up the short hill we were hiking towards.

I patted the top of my head, surprised indeed to find he was right: where his cheek had rested as we embraced was indeed a little wet.

I ran up behind him and no words were said, because the message was perfectly clear—as clear as the view from the hilltop of the forest and valleys and far off mountains to the west of the Golden Wood. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and I found myself clutching Erynion's hand as much to share that message back to him as to hold me steady. He didn't let go, even as he moved behind me to whisper in my ear.

"Let your mind quiet and your eyes wander slowly. See the peaks of the mountains, jagged and sharp, and vividly white. Imagine the cold at the heights turning your lips blue, watching the eagles that soar to their Eyrie. There's snow that will lick your knees, and the higher you track the closer the clouds will come…"

Erynion murmured his timeless wisdom and patience to me, painting the scene before me into a vibrant, living landscape where once it might have only been a picture. Indeed, nothing could be realer than us here: Elf and human, hands clasped together as we tried to grasp the enormity of the world from only this pinprick. By the time my eyes had traversed the very tops of the Misty Mountains, across the forest at the foothills and the plains at its feet, then down to the earth under mine, I felt tired and wobbly, shaken enough that I had to sit and let it pass. Erynion's lips brushed my cheek and he sat beside me as steady as the mountains, patient to the end.

When I finally felt sufficiently recovered and no longer overwhelmed by the vastness of the world and my tiny place in it, I turned to Erynion and brushed a soft kiss to his lips as a thank you.

"I want to travel again."

He laughed softly, smiling for the second time that day, but softer than before. "Where do you want to go?"

"You have shown me mountains and forests and grasslands," I said, indicating the vista before us that encompassed a corner of them all. "But you haven't shown me oceans or rivers or valleys. Nor ruins or village or town."

Erynion just looked at me, with that same smile hovering about his mouth, and I knew he was promising me I would see those things with him, that he would sing me the stories of the stars and let me collect and display my little gifts and souvenirs, so long as I would stay with him and love him as much as he dared to love me.

And I smiled back that one smile that meant "of course" and "I love you" and a thousand other endearments that I saved only for the most precious things to me in the world.


	5. A Study in Frustration: Erynion (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would happen if Erynion went with Maddie to Gondor? Just some highlights of their adventures and Maddie's exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Introducing a lot snarkier Maddie. I'm not sure how it happened, but Guibass and I were talking and somehow hit on the idea of an alternate-alternate universe where Erynion goes with Maddie to Gondor. This is mostly the highlights, which is why things ended up a lot more bizarre than I ever intended. I also messed with the timeline, so Gandalf appears in Minas Tirith a lot earlier than usual, because whatever, alternate-alternate universe.

The poor man looked completely flabbergasted as he drew his horse to a stop, his men just a couple steps behind him. They were soldiers obviously, with the shape of a horse on their shields and armor that I didn't recognize. All eyes were on Erynion though, who's expression hadn't changed at all. He calmly watched the men approach like they were a flock of birds and not soldiers with weapons.

"What is an Elf and a lady doing in such lands?" the closest one asked, but his gaze wavered between the two of us, like he didn't know quite who to address. I thought it was perfectly obvious since Erynion radiated that kind of unwavering Elven confidence that managed to _not_ come off as arrogant at the same time. Then again, I suppose we were both two odd ducks at the moment.

Erynion didn't answer, instead just solemnly studying the men who had gathered around, most still on their horses, while they in turn goggled at him. I was left to stutter through a reply. "We go to Gondor."

The man who'd spoken turned to me, but the next words out of his mouth were far too complicated for my meager Westron. I looked at Erynion, whose mouth I swear twitched for a just a moment.

And of course the elf stayed dead silent.

"What? Sorry?"

The man repeated it, and I still had no idea what he was saying. I looked at Erynion again, but he just stood there to let me flounder my way through this. If we didn't have an audience I would have shot more than a scathing look at Erynion.

"I speak little Westron," I tried to explain, but the guy just ignored that and said something more that was perfectly incomprehensible to me. Couldn't he at least slow down? "This is Erynion. Erynion is Elf. He speaks Westron," I said in stilted words, and thankfully that shifted what little attention was on me back to him.

The elf finally—finally!—deigned to engage the man in conversation, though brief because Erynion was as loquacious as a rock, and then finally the man turned back to me and offered me a short bow. "My lady, my name is Fastred. We have a horse available, and you are welcome to meet with our captain and share safe passage south to Edoras if you would like."

I stared at the Rohirrim, confused by what he said. Something about a horse. "Horse?" I looked back at Erynion, but whoever had brought a saddled horse nearby had completely distracted him. Erynion had barely moved and he was already getting an affectionate nuzzle out of the animal. The moment Erynion started stroking its neck I swear if it were possible that horse would have been purring. While interesting for our audience, it was also monumentally unhelpful. "Erynion."

The damn elf glanced at me then indicated the horse. "Horse," I supplied as dryly as possible. Were we being given it? Did we have to trade for it? Would we both be able to ride it? I tried to put all these questions I didn't know how to say into that one word, but Erynion either didn't get it or didn't care.

Poor Fastred, he seemed a bit flustered as he looked between us. I looked harder at Erynion, like this could possibly have any effect on an elf. I don't know whether he got bored or knew the amusement was coming to an end, but he finally answered me. "Do you want to ride the horse?"

"Yes," I said immediately, because walking was tiring and I just wanted this conversation to be done with.

Then of course Erynion started taking the bridal and reins off and I was no more able to stop him than the baffled looks of the riders around us.

 _Elves_ , I thought vindictively.

* * *

"Is there something amiss, that an elf from the yellow wood would come to the realm of Men?" The captain was a ruggedly good-looking guy with dirty blond hair and a couple days' growth of beard. He was quite polite, if as puzzled as Fastred and the lot had been when they saw Erynion and I riding towards his bigger group of men. We stuck out like an apple in a barrel of oranges.

"I am assisting Miss Maddie to Gondor."

Now I was the focus of the full brunt of the captain's attention. "My lady, it must be great circumstances indeed that would give cause to an elf to be your guard."

Once again, I was totally and utterly lost—but I'd learned my lesson. After a day with Fastred's group I'd realized quickly not to rely on Erynion in a conversation. He was as likely to simplify things or reply for me as he was to hug me.

"Yes." This was becoming my default answer for everything.

"Is there cause for concern for Rohan?" The captain's face started to frown. I had a feeling he was asking me if I'd ever been to Rohan or something along those lines.

"No," I frowned too, but mostly because Erynion now had three horses around him that were all whickering. Elves and their literal animal magnetism.

"Hm…" The captain said, but otherwise stopped talking about whatever he'd been talking about. One day I might actually know what people were saying to me. Sometimes it looked like a pipe dream.

* * *

"Edoras or Minas Tirith?" Erynion asked me, after a long, circular conversation the morning after we'd met Éomer that totally bypassed me, but was also totally about me. Éomer and Fastred had done their best, but truly my vocabulary wasn't up to task. The captain seemed to take pity on me once he'd realized the exact nature of my relationship with Erynion last night—that is to say, reluctantly reliant but also increasingly frustrated. Unfortunately, Éomer also wasn't very good at curbing his language, and Fastred was only a step up, so usually I was left with more questions than answers when they tried to "translate" for me.

So finally Erynion had intervened with an easy question. Well, mostly easy. "What is Minas Tirith?" I asked.

"City of Gondor." Erynion never bothered with verbs unless absolutely necessary.

"Gondor," I answered.

Fastred sighed, but Éomer looked mostly relieved this was done with. Why, if the question had been so simple, did no one just put it that way? "Why so hard?" I found myself asking the general air.

"It's complicated." Erynion replied, much to my surprise. And then annoyance, because now I felt like maybe there was something important in that conversation that I didn't know and Erynion had just precluded me from finding out.

But once again I didn't know how to say any of that, so Éomer and Erynion spoke shortly, and then Erynion mounted up on the horse we'd been lent before. Erynion apparently didn't need any tack at all, which simplified the question of where I would sit—Rohirrim saddles had a chair-like back that made two riders difficult to accommodate—but also spectacularly unsteady for me. Erynion's Elven balance and the fact that he would easily sit astride was the source of my greatest envy.

Éomer gave me a boost up, and only then did I realize we were leaving the Rohirrim immediately.

"Leave now?" I said surprised, but Erynion already started the horse to a walk, so there wasn't much I could do. "Bye Captain Éomer and Fastred!" I said, and I swear I heard Erynion huff something under his breath.

* * *

"This is Erynion. He speaks Westron. But he no like speaking." There was a pause as the man looked taken aback by my introduction. I was getting very tired of this response. Everyone seemed to be under the impression I was a translator for Erynion, and the dumb elf didn't even tell me that until we'd been in Minas Tirith for half a day and I'd brokenly introduced us to at least five people.

"And you are?" The man asking us was well dressed in a leather jerkin with a silver tree etched on it. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and a friendly smile, which was more welcoming than half the other people I'd met here so far. He was looking quite placidly at us, but I got the feeling he was humming with energy under his skin. Erynion and his "Elvish-ness" tended to do that to people.

"I am Maddie. I…" Normally I would say something like "I'm from the north", but through a series of progressively higher ranking people and physically moving up and up Minas Tirith over the course of the day, we were now talking to possibly one of the highest ranked person in the city. In a throne room no less, though I don't think he was the king otherwise he'd have a crown or something, right? At any rate, I was tired from walking up steps and fielding questions I barely understood about Erynion. If I had any hopes of sleeping peacefully tonight and eventually getting home, it was probably better to be straight with the influential people.

I started to sweat when I couldn't come up with anything not in English, so I went to my fallback. "Uh… I speak little Westron."

"Do you then speak Elvish?"

"No, no! I… I speak English."

This seemed to interest the man for only a moment, when I got grilled on where people spoke English and asked to do an example only to prove that the man hadn't heard it before. He seemed mildly fascinated by that conundrum, but perhaps ironically the elf was still holding his attention more. At least Erynion seemed to finally realize we weren't getting anyway and spoke up, saying something about Lord Elrond and Lothlórien, and apparently setting to rest whatever further questions the man had.

"Then let Minas Tirith welcome you," he said, with a slight bow. "Guest rooms will be prepared. I would like to extend an invitation to dinner tonight with my brother, Lord Boromir, and myself. It has been many years since one of the Eldar came to this city. It is our greatest honor to host you, Lord Erynion."

I only caught something about food and lords—my word of the day thanks to all these lords we'd been talking to—but considering the kind of attention Erynion was getting from this guy, not to mention pretty much everyone else in the city, I had a good feeling everyone just wanted to talk to him. How terribly disappointed they were all going to be.

Erynion bowed, and following him half a second later I curtsied. "Thank you, Lord Boromir."

"My brother is Lord Boromir. I am Faramir."

"Oh, um, oops. Lord Faramir." I repeated the curtsey to cover my bases, but he mostly looked amused.

"Oops?" he asked.

* * *

"Erynion doesn't like talking," I futilely said for what had to be the hundredth time. Lords and nobles and bards and soldiers had invited us to dinners and parties in the last two weeks—more dinners than there were meals in fourteen days if we're honest. All of them wanted to hear Elvish stories or songs, or maybe see him shoot an arrow or fall in love with their daughters or something. I really had no idea. Most people quickly overlooked me for Erynion, and I was almost surprised to see that I even got invited to anything at all. It seemed the only reason I did was to explain why Erynion was basically like a mobile statue.

Still, there was one person who didn't much care for Erynion's person, and he happened to frequent the guard's practice area not far from my quarters, so I saw him fairly often.

"Yes, I got that," Boromir muttered under his breath. He wasn't funny, nor overly kind and generous, which was actually a bit of a break from all the dumb nobles. They often showed up with gifts or tried to crack jokes that I didn't get, and sometimes had very strange assertions of what an Elf might like that I'm sure were at least a little insulting—the stuffed deer head to "bring some of nature" to Erynion's rooms jumped to mind.

Boromir was nothing like that, despite having a bloodline far older than those aristocrats. He was Faramir's brother, a soldier and hard working man who looking down on the well-dressed fops as much as Erynion did (or as much as I guessed Erynion did, based on the minute shifting of his facial muscles). He also didn't mind talking to me or at least trying to help me get by in this medieval world.

"Erynion doesn't like talking and singing. I never hear Erynion sing. Maybe he sings bad."

"Sings poorly," Boromir automatically corrected. Unlike everyone else, who was too polite to ever tell me my grammar was horrible, Boromir and sometimes Faramir would correct me. Faramir would try to (unsuccessfully) explain at least some of the principles for why I was speaking incorrectly, while Boromir would just interrupt me. He was a bit more abrupt like that.

"Maybe he sings poorly."

"Faramir would like to hear an Elf sing, though I prefer our bards."

"Maybe on Faramir's birthday I ask Erynion to sing."

"Will ask."

"I _will ask_ Erynion to sing."

This was a typical conversation between Boromir and I. We'd run into each other somewhere, usually on the street or in a garden or something, I'd mention something I didn't understand that someone had done (usually a nobleman, but sometimes Erynion), and Boromir would attempt to explain. He was, under all the gruffness, a really good man, and I looked forward to those brief chats with him more than anyone else.

Ironically, Erynion didn't much care for Boromir. Faramir held his interest the most because he was more scholarly, though I think Erynion did respect Boromir's ability with the sword. The only person Erynion had ever done archery with was Boromir, come to think of it.

* * *

"Lady Maddie!" Faramir caught up to me in one of the gardens where I was thinking of introducing the concept of a plaque to, because nobody labeled the statues. How are any visitors supposed to know the significance of some lady holding a bowl if there's no inscription? "I have just gotten word that Gandalf has entered the city. He is the Grey Wizard as I told you before."

"Really?!" (This was the third most important word I'd learned, right behind yes and no, and right before Erynion's favorite: "complicated".)

"Yes. My father wishes to greet him, but perhaps he will come to dinner if he is not too tired. If so expect an invitation."

"Thank you! I am happy to meet the Grey Wizard."

Then Faramir walked away with a bow, and I patted myself on the back for understanding almost all of that. Then I went hunting for Erynion, who I had several weeks earlier confided in my personal story. Even though I liked Faramir and Boromir very much, and shared some of it with the brothers even, Erynion was—if nothing else—good at listening. He also never got that look on his face like Faramir did that made me wonder if he wasn't questioning my sanity. Erynion at least pretty much looked the same 24/7, so I could have told him I was really a mermaid flopped up from the sea and he wouldn't bat an eye. You can't know how reassuring that kind of acceptance can be, even I'm fairly sure he was just humoring me and secretly thinking I'm the kind of crazy that should be locked away.

"Erynion!" I said, popping my head inside the doorway to his room. He kept that place scrupulously clean, and I imagined he spent all night making the bed and dusting the dresser instead of sleeping or something. Either that or fairies were real and Elves could summon them and were keeping the secret from everyone else.

I checked a couple more of his usual haunts, including the wild flower garden (it was actually carefully maintained to look like it was growing wildly, a concept that was apparently not modern at all), the archery range, the library, and the courtyard overlooking the city. It was at the last one where I found the blond elf staring into space.

"I found you," I said, catching my breath since I'd had to climb six staircases to get up here. It was technically on the sixth level, since there were no guard posts blocking the way, but this particular courtyard was almost at the same height as the seventh level, so it was no easy feat up that narrow staircase.

Erynion didn't respond, just shifted his focus to me from hair maintenance or the pattern of tree roots or whatever Elves thought about.

"Faramir says Gandalf is in Minas Tirith."

Silence.

"If Gandalf is not sleepy then we will have dinner together."

A slight nod.

"This is good," I said stubbornly, sitting on the adjacent bench to him. "I will ask Gandalf to help me go home. He is a wizard." I even mimicked the pointy hat over my head, because concepts like "wizard" were difficult to explain when no one knew the translation. It hadn't been until Boromir grabbed his sword's sheath and mimicked a staff and pointy hat that I'd even understood.

He stirred. "There will be pumpkin at dinner tonight."

I sighed. Trust Erynion to say something random.

"Is that because the pumpkin fairies are out, or you can smell them from the second level, or because that lady who always has way too much powder on her face sent you one?" I asked rhetorically in English. This, I had found, was the single most annoying thing to Erynion I could possibly do and almost always guaranteed some kind of response. (Short of attempting archery that is, but he took my pathetic archery skills far more personally, so I kept that as an extreme measure.)

I earned a slight frown for that.

"You do know she's got an unhealthy interest in you right? It's one thing to ogle because the whole Elf thing—" hah, he hated it just a little bit more when I threw in Westron words knowing he couldn't understand anything else—"but really, she's forward even by my standards. I swear, without your sneaky Elven abilities you would have been groped at that last party, that's how much she tried to get near you."

I was feeling quite proud of myself for all of two seconds before Erynion looked up at the sky for the barest moment before Elvish just came tumbling out of him. It had to be easily the longest thing I'd ever heard him say and not a lick of it understandable. I also had the nagging suspicion that while pretty—because all Elvish sounded pretty when you only hear it—he was probably bemoaning his choice to follow me as much as I lamented the existence of that court lady.

Then he looked at me and there was definitely smugness in his eyes.

"In English there is a… words. In Westron it is… I eat my medicine."

"That's a good saying. You should listen to it more."

"Maybe when you tell me good news I will say nothing then. Eat your medicine, Erynion." He inclined his head a bit to acknowledge my victory. Feeling my ego swell, I threw in, "In English now you say 'touché'. Well… that's French really. Not English."

Erynion's eyebrow perked for just a moment. At the very least, as I walked back downstairs so Faramir's messenger would be able to find me, he wasn't looking so vacant as he had when I found him up here. I don't think Minas Tirith suited an elf very much. My experience in Rivendell had taught me that Elves liked trees and grass and water, not stone and cities. He was probably lonely without other Elves to talk to, I thought a bit sadly. It was like transplanting a wild animal into a zoo, except this one knows the what's on the other side of the walls.

* * *

The Grey Wizard was exactly what a wizard should look like. He had the pointy hat, the beard, the robes, and that twinkle in his eye that only real wizards should have. The nice ones, that is.

I liked him, but strangely it heartened me more to see how much Erynion liked him. Gandalf had greeted the elf in Elvish, and they had what most would consider a short conversation in the tongue, but for Erynion was probably the longest one he'd had since leaving Lothlórien. I hadn't realized he'd looked less… fey until he brightened from that short chat.

After that first meeting though things with Gandalf didn't pan out quite so smoothly. For one, he didn't know anything about my situation, and even with heavyweight backing from the sons of the Steward and Erynion, Gandalf couldn't really figure out what the heck I was here for.

With Erynion helping to translate—well, not really, Erynion was mostly just there like usual—I got to explain to the wizard the details of my travel, including my unhelpful talk with Elrond. Erynion, surprisingly, jumped in very briefly for a moment to tell Gandalf that the Lady of the Golden Wood had _specifically said_ she wouldn't meet with me. That made the Grey Wizard _hmmmm_ in a decidedly ominous way.

I shot Erynion my most unimpressed look because this was the first I was hearing of this.

He completely ignored it.

And then of course Gandalf had to mention Frodo Baggins and the whole world came down around my ears.

* * *

An Elf wasn't really the best thing to see once the panic attack about fictional books and fantasy characters has just barely finished. I'd sort of managed to overlook or become so used to him that I didn't really see it anymore, but Erynion had small but definitely pointy ears, an angular face that looked more like it had been sculpted in shimmering clay than by genetics, and the kind of eyes that at the moment made me want to claw my own out.

"Let her be, let her be," I could hear Gandalf in the background saying, but I guess Erynion didn't let up his grip. It was a good thing too because it was grounding me, though at the moment if I could have flown away back to my sleepy hometown I'd have done it in a heartbeat.

When I was sufficiently recovered—and most importantly not so congested after the spontaneous tears—Gandalf wanted the full story and Erynion went back to being a statue in the corner. But I didn't forget his hovering and his help up from the corner of the room I'd scrambled into. They really weren't kidding about the strength of the Elves, because he hauled me up like I was a toddler fallen on the playground and not a full-grown adult having a mental breakdown.

It was pretty broken, but I conveyed the gist of it, and Gandalf looked exceptionally thoughtful. This is generally not a good thing on wizard's face, because it means your life and happiness are probably in the balance. I'm sure the whole Baggins line of hobbits break out into a cold sweat at the sight.

"If the council is indeed to occur in Rivendell, then it would be best you be there," Gandalf surmised, and I groaned aloud because I'd just left there.

"Why did I leave if I only have to go back?" I mumbled in English, ignored by Erynion and Gandalf who were discussing something in much faster Westron. I heard things like horses, days, Elrond, and a smattering of other words, but most of it didn't make any sense.

"Stay. Prepare. Erynion will guide you back to Rivendell."

I looked at Erynion to see how he felt being described as essentially my pack mule, but he'd adopted that Elven look of indifference that meant I wasn't going to wheedle anything out of him.

"Now you will leave Minas Tirith. Happy?" I said to him.

His glance flicked to me, then back into space. I sighed.

* * *

"I want my horse."

"You do not have a horse."

"No, a new horse for me. Your horse is… not a good person."

"…"

"And chair for horse."

"Chair?"

"Sit on chair. Horse chair."

"Saddle."

"What?"

This was not a good start to our return trip.

* * *

tbc…


	6. Let's Stay a Little (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erynion's either a subtle romantic or Maddie's a bit slow. It works out though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got distracted while working on the next chapter of HwtF when this idea just blindsided me. For those of you who wanted a little more Erynion/Maddie, I hope you like it!

"Are your people as long lived as the Men of the North?"

"How long do they live?" I asked suspiciously. Erynion had only recently started to begin conversations, but it was still a rare thing. Usually if he did it meant I was about to pick up a poisonous mushroom or he wanted to make a derisive comment about humanity.

"In ages past a couple centuries. Now, perhaps 150 years for the most pure of blood."

He was so still as he sat on the rock it was like he hadn't spoken at all. I stared a bit harder at him over the fire, but the flickering light made his expression continuously change, though I'm sure it hadn't moved at all.

"No, I think most of my people live to around eighty. One hundred at best."

"That is short indeed."

"Hmph. We have a saying: live each day like your last."

A shadow of something crossed Erynion's face, and I wondered how an immortal would interpret that. Could he even understand a little of what it felt like, when the days kept passing you by and you had to make the most of each one? Or had so many days blurred by him that my lifespan seemed like a fly's?

"You are of twenty and five years?"

"Twenty-six probably. My birthday should have passed in the spring."

Erynion's gaze shifted to the fire, but I still watched him. I was trying to figure out what this conversation was about. In the months that I'd traveled with him, in total from Minas Tirith to Rivendell to Bree and now almost the Grey Havens, we'd actually managed to make more than short, frustrating conversation. (Legolas had definitely helped in the beginning, when we went with him and Gimli to Fangorn.) He'd become a lot nicer to me, especially once Legolas and Gimli were gone, though I couldn't figure out why. Likely, I'd jumped the hurdle of Elvish friendship without even realizing it. Granted, Erynion was only marginally nicer, and it was mostly in action not word.

"Is that not the age at which Men settle?"

His eyes looked particularly blue when he glanced at me, temporarily knocking my thoughts away from the conversation. "What? Settle? I guess so, but I have no family here and no home. I would have to make one from scratch." His eyebrow shot up, and it took a moment for me to realize what I'd say. "I mean, I would have to make a whole new one. A home that is. I… I like traveling. I don't want to do that yet."

Was he trying to tell me he wanted to stop traveling together? I felt a flutter of nerves and dread at the thought. Erynion would not have been my first choice of companion in the beginning, but I had definitely revised my opinion since. I couldn't even remember how I'd survived traveling with anyone else, or not gone out of my mind with loneliness by myself. The weirdly standoffish, frequently unhelpful Elf had grown on me, and in turn I liked to think I'd grown on him.

"Would you wish to live among Men?"

"'I don't know."

He turned away and didn't say anything more, and I shrugged my shoulders and figured I would never really understand Elves.

* * *

Eye contact. Again.

And there. Two minutes later. More weird eye contact.

I swear, just weeks before Erynion was always looking off into nature or into some middle distance and only rarely at me, but now we'd made eye contact at least six times in the last hour alone.

"Is there something on my face?" I blurted out finally, as he set down his bag for a brief lunch break and once again glanced at me, blue eyes watching me with some look I couldn't interpret.

He blinked, but didn't respond.

"Ugh, nevermind."

I thought maybe I was the one going mad; that maybe my idea of going on to the Grey Havens rather than turning back at the Shire for Rivendell had been dumb after all. Maybe I was overexposed to Elf? We'd been traveling together for nearly six months now, and that was an awfully long time.

Except that through our silent lunch Erynion would casually look up, and the shifting of his hair in the sunlight would draw my eye, and suddenly we'd be making eye contact again. He never looked any different of course, but I was hyperaware of all of this conscious eye contact.

The last time I could stand it though was when we were mounting up on the horses again. With a bit of a hop I climbed up on Thunor, and as Erynion drew his steed over he was looking straight at me. He mounted up too, and immediately looked my way again. It was unmistakable.

"Why do I feel like you're always looking at me? Is there a joke here?" I twitched Thunor's reins so he'd follow along behind Erynion's horse, but the Elf hung back so we were side by side.

"There is no joke," he said calmly, still looking straight at me. It was a bit unnerving under that perceptive gaze.

"Then why do I feel like you've been staring at me all day?"

His head tilted slightly to the side, like he was contemplating his answer. "Your hair."

I drew my brows together and patted at my hastily done braid. I checked the color and texture, worried suddenly that I'd washed it with a bad soap yesterday in the river and he'd been laughing at me all morning. Despite my frantic checking, from what I could tell my hair was exactly the same as the day before. I couldn't feel any bird poop in it or raggedly chopped off side I'd been ignorant to. I tried to ask Erynion again, but he'd moved up ahead of me and was finally staring off into space ignoring me. I had no idea what to make of him, except that maybe it was _him_ going a little crazy from too much human exposure.

* * *

"Will you sail away one day, Erynion?" I asked softly, watching the waves lazily lap against the beach. We were on some bluffs watching the ocean a day's ride from the Grey Havens. The Elf had let us make camp early so we could sleep to the sound of the sea and the smell of the salty air. The view was unbeatable, especially since the sun would be setting soon.

"Perhaps."

"Why do the Elves leave? Is there nothing left here for them?"

"For many, no."

"Oh." It was a disheartening thought, and I wondered if Erynion was considering leaving soon. Did he really not have anything in Lothlórien tying him here? No family or friends? Did he really feel ready to leave his home behind?

Thinking on the beauty of Lothlórien, including what I'd finally gotten to see thanks to befriending Erynion, all I could think was that the world really would be a lesser place without Elves. I told him so, to which he looked at me with a serious gaze. "The time of the Elves is over."

"With Gandalf gone and the Elves to follow, soon there will be no magic in this world."

Erynion didn't move at first, his face not changing at all, but eventually he shifted to look at me more directly. "What do you mean?"

"In my homeland, there are no Elves, no Dwarves, or wizards. Not even hobbits. There is only Men. We have great cities like Minas Tirith, but hundreds and hundreds of them, all made of stone. We cut down the forests for the wood, and build farms across all the plains, and we dirty the rivers and oceans until they are not blue. It is not like Middle Earth."

I just stared out at the waves, remembering what the seaports covered in oil tankers and shipping containers looked like, the great towering skyscrapers blocking views, and the concrete streets, and wondered not for the first time what we'd lost in the great technological race. I'd long decided on staying in Middle Earth, that going back would be a step back, but it didn't mean I didn't think of my original home.

"That is why you travel."

"Yes." I looked over at Erynion, who was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. It was almost pitying, but also understanding. "That's why I'm sad the Elves are leaving. There will be no one to protect nature when Men have forgotten—when they have forgotten there is more to life than stone and sword."

"You do not sound like any Man I have met."

"My people have seen what happens when you forget, but Men here have not lived that long yet."

That was way more ominous than intended, and it must have affected Erynion somehow, because he just quietly held his hand out to me. Even though he must have been wielding weapons for thousands of years, his skin was soft and buttery smooth when I put my hand in his, with elegant long fingers curled around my own.

"I will not let you forget, Madeline Green, so long as you live."

There was a knot in my throat at his words, words I never expected from Erynion. He seemed to not give me much notice on most days and found me trying more often than not, but what he promised was something I didn't even know I wanted until right this moment—and maybe more.

I just absorbed his elfin features for a moment, thinking that the first time I'd seen an Elf I thought I'd never be able to stand it, but here I was staring fey magic in the face and wishing I'd never _not_ see it. I'd contrived this trip to the Grey Havens so Erynion and I didn't have to part so soon, but it looked like he was more than willing to come along with me anyway.

"Well that won't be long for you," I joked around my tight throat.

"When you do pass on I will mourn, as you do for the Elves who sail to Valinor." His blue eyes were more serious than I'd ever seen them, and his gaze was heavy on me. It hit me hard in the chest to think that in a few short months I had affected this Elf so strongly—this being who outlived me by hundreds of lifespans and had met infinitely stranger and more interesting people than me.

"My people are short lived, as I told you, so we say that true immortality is being remembered."

Something flashed behind Erynion's eyes, but it was gone too fast to say what. "You will be immortal then, for I will not forget you."

* * *

That conversation was a turning point for Erynion and I, though it wasn't immediately obvious what that meant. Our stay in the Grey Havens was fascinating and relaxed, no spontaneous serious conversations or anything other than a little more weirdness from him. He'd showed me how to press flowers in books when he'd seen me using them as bookmarks, an unreasonably personable thing for aloof Erynion to do. For a reason I still didn't understand too, he'd translated an Elvish poem from a book he'd found randomly in the library of Círdan's hall for me when I'd asked offhand. Maybe this is what friendship with an Elf was like, when they anticipated what you wanted before you even knew, and all of it was heart-warming—or maybe that last bit was just me.

It did become a little clearer the way rubbing an icy window makes the light outside marginally easier to see, when I made one perfectly innocent comment one day on a balcony overlooking the sea:

"I've never seen an Elven child."

Erynion actually glanced over at me from where he leaned on the railing, and I considered for a half a second if mentioning children was some kind of taboo. I'd never really heard any Elves talking about children, and after seeing every Elven home now it sparked my curiosity.

"There are few now, if any."

"But why? It is simply difficult?" I could understand having few children spaced out over the years because of their infinite lifespans, but you'd think I'd have seen at least one after visiting all these Elves.

"Children are rare gifts, but Elves age slowly."

"And you are leaving." It hung in the air unspoken, what Erynion had promised to me that day on the cliff.

"Men birth many children."

"Well yes, but they don't have as much time."

"And you?"

"Me?" I squawked a bit on that, mostly because Erynion was looking at me a bit slyly, fully aware I was on the spot now. "Have you heard how painful birth is?" That was mostly a cop out because I didn't want to think about a husband or what I would do if I were married in this medieval world, let alone childbirth without sanitation and most importantly anesthesia.

Erynion mostly looked amused though at my response. I was tempted to mention the image of birthing a watermelon through a grape, but he spoke first. "Were you not wed in your homeland?"

"No!" I wiggled my left hand at him before I realized that motion meant nothing in Middle Earth. "I am young to be married, or well, young to be married with children in my homeland."

He glanced at my hand, but didn't voice his question. Over the months I'd gotten good at reading him without words. "It is custom in my land that a married couple wear rings on their fourth finger to show they are wed."

Erynion looked curiously a moment longer at my noticeably bare finger, while I contemplated him. "Are you not wed Erynion? Surely you are old enough to be."

I did make jokes on occasion about what an old man he must be, but I think it was really only funny to me. The idea of being elderly and frail meant very little to him, when someone who was three thousand years old didn't differ a whole lot physically from someone who was five hundred.

"I am not. Many Elves do not wed."

"Well that's sad, to spend such a long time alone. Maybe we say this because our life is short, but we often say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

Erynion actually turned to look at me, gazing at me again with one of those damn unreadable expressions. I wondered how long I would have to know him before I could read all of them, because we were past the half-year mark of travel together and I was still baffled by a lot of his looks.

"An Elf may fade in time if his heart should be broken."

"What?" I sputtered, surprised. "What do you mean fade?"

"Slowly passing from this world." He was looking at me again with that unreadable face, but I was rather caught up in this new information. I suppose Trahern may have mentioned it long ago in Rivendell, but I hadn't really understood until now.

"In that case I guess you must be careful in love."

Erynion kept looking at me a moment more, before transferring his gaze back out to sea. "It is not a matter of caution. Once one's heart is given it is lost. Man may regain his eventually, but an Elf does not. One cannot live without a heart."

I didn't really know how to argue with that. The idea of having never been in love, not even once, seemed so terribly sad, but at the same time if one ran the risk of actually dying from a broken heart the tradeoff didn't seem fair. I thought back on Cliff, whom I'd thought I'd loved for the first four months or so of that relationship, and thought that Elves must love differently otherwise they'd all be dead before they finished their teenage years (or whatever the equivalent was).

"I don't think I've ever loved like that."

Erynion didn't answer that, but I guess he hadn't loved someone like that either. Otherwise he would have faded a long time ago.

* * *

We left the Grey Havens only thinking to return to Rivendell and decide on a course from there. I had asked Erynion just once if he wanted to return to Lothlórien and stop traveling, but he had just looked at me and asked _me_ if I wanted to stop.

"I… I do not wish to drag you around. I know how to make a fire and I have a horse now."

He just looked at me, somehow conveying exasperation without shifting a single facial muscle.

"I would like you to come with me," I caved. "I want to see Eryn Lasgalen and the Lonely Mountain. But if you wish to stop then I understand."

"If you do not wish to part then we will not. There are many parts of this world I have not seen yet."

He said it so matter-of-factly that it actually took me a moment to realize he was basically sticking with me until I told him to get lost. I felt my heart jump and it put a smile on my face before I could hide it.

"Well we best find them, because I haven't seen them either."

Erynion glanced over at me, and when my gaze turned to him, I could swear there was the slightest upturn to his lips. "Are you smiling?" I blurted out, but he had already kicked his horse into a gallop and was racing down the hillside away from the Grey Havens. I spurred Thunor to match his pace and quickly overtook him, laughing as we galloped past.

* * *

It was about a week after leaving the Havens by a different route than the one we arrived from, that I learned exactly why Erynion was asking me questions, letting me practice braiding in his mare's hair (Thunor would never stand still long enough), teaching me tricks of the road, and basically doing all the little things he'd never bothered with before.

It there is one thing Elves and humans share, it is appreciation of flowers. Erynion went scouting one night after dinner and didn't come back for some time, which wasn't very unusual. I was just about ready to fall asleep when he shook my shoulder, jarring me from my doze. "What? Is there a problem?" I asked a bit groggily.

He was holding two purple flowers out to me, and I took them automatically. The bulbs hung low to face the ground, and I could just see in the firelight the purple color grew darker as it neared the stem. "Erynion, what?"

"Come." He waited for me to stand, and held his hand out. I glanced between it and the flowers, and then up to his face.

"What's going on? Is there something in the woods?"

He just waited patiently with his hand out, and I finally switched the flowers to the other hand took his cool one, letting him guide me around the trees since I could barely see in the darkness.

I was nervous my palm was sweaty, and I kept looking back as the sparks from the coals of our fire grew dimmer and dimmer in the distance. Soon enough it was only the faintest light to guide by, and I was glad I had Erynion's hand to hold on to because I was definitely going to hit a tree without him. My hand tightened on his, and I swore he squeezed it back just once.

Then I saw something ahead of us, something with silver light, and thought Erynion had found a river or something, but that wasn't it at all. It was in fact the same field where those purple stems he gave me originated from, and the whole meadow was bathed in moonlight.

As we stepped out from the tree line, there was just a carpet of flowers until the edge of the rocky hillside, the stars above bathing the flowers in glimmering purple and silver light. I don't think they were flowers you could find in my world, not with that faint, whimsical scent. The meadow was utterly still, and I felt like I'd stepped into a little corner of the world no one else had seen yet.

"This is beautiful," I whispered, creeping into the patch slowly so I wouldn't crush too many of the flowers. I didn't hear Erynion follow, and once I'd gotten about a third of the way in I turned back to where he still stood just past the trees.

His blond hair was silver in the moonlight, and his skin cast back the glow of the stars, making him look truly fey with those sharp cheekbones and pointed ears. There was nothing human in his otherworldly stillness, and I could only think that I must look like a puddle of shadow in this field of flowers, whereas he would look like a king.

And then Erynion approached me slowly; too graceful to be human, and with some soft look I'd never seen before on his face. I thought perhaps he just liked flowers, or maybe like all Elves he really did love starlight, but he was staring straight at me with that look.

"I have never seen these flowers before," he said.

"Neither have I." My voice was embarrassingly breathy, but I just couldn't stop staring at him, the way the starlight touched his features. I supposed I'd never really seen Erynion at night, only in the flames of the fire or the darkness of a hall. But this… he belonged in a place like this.

He crouched down and gathered some of the flowers together, hair pooling over his shoulders like a silver river. I was mesmerized as his nimble fingers twisted the stems gentle into a simple flower crown, like out of some old story about fairies. When he stepped in front of me, closer than I think we'd ever been, and placed the crown on my head all I could feel was spreading warmth in me, and a crazy urge to reach up and kiss him.

His hands lingered on the crown for a moment, and then one slid down to gently brush against my cheek, as faint as the slightest breeze. "I would follow you through your days," he said softly, blue eyes almost glowing as he looked down at me.

"Why?" I whispered, afraid I was misinterpreting his stance, his touch, as something more than just Elvish friendship. I hoped he could read me better than I could read myself, because I didn't know how to respond, to react.

He brushed his thumb again over my cheek, and when my eyes flicked down to his mouth the edges were definitely curled up in a smile.

That was his cue. Erynion dipped his head down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, gentle like I might break. When he started to pull away I leaned forward automatically to chase him with another, heart going a mile a minute that _this was happening_. The secret I'd been in denial of harboring was happening, and he tasted faintly of something sweet. I licked my lips, and this time I saw his eyes dart down to my mouth.

Then we were kissing again, a little harder then a little softer, and Erynion might never have been in love before but he certainly knew what he was doing. I didn't remember dropping the flowers, or putting my hands on his firm shoulders, but his hands slid into my hair and angled me just right, and we fit together perfectly.

I don't know when time kicked in, but when we did pull away my flower crown was askew and lips bruised, and his hair was more mussed up than I'd ever seen it.

And he was smiling.

It was a real smile, a full one, and I found myself laughing as I smiled back. He reached up to fix my crown, and I got up on my toes to press a kiss to the corner of his upturned mouth just because I could. "I like it when you smile."

He smiled again warm and sincere. "If you wish to save the flowers, you ought to press them soon."

I reached up to touch the flowers on my head gingerly, torn between saving this moment and reveling in it a little longer. "Let's stay a little."

Erynion mouth was still playfully upturned, but before I could think to pull him back down to me his hand came up and tucked a strand of my hair back behind my ear, fingers just barely grazing the edge. I wondered if he were fascinated with my ears as much as I was with his. "We ought to make you a crown too. Will you teach me?"

We stayed in that field a while longer under the moonlight, fashioning Erynion a matching crown. When I placed my handmade crown on his head I felt so settled in my heart then, more at home in this magical field with this fairy tale creature than I ever had anywhere else, and I thought to myself this might be what Elvish love feels like. The last thing I said before falling asleep against Erynion's side was, "I don't want it to be morning," but that Elf, who seemed to always anticipate what I wanted said, "It will be just as beautiful."


	7. A Study in Frustration: Erynion (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of A Study in Frustration. Maddie and Erynion travel from Gondor to Rivendell with a few hiccups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Sorry this continuation has taken so long! This kind of humorous, not-so-serious writing and this alternate Maddie takes a certain mindset. I hope this lives up to expectations, because Part One is a hard act to follow! Thank you to Guibass for feedback!
> 
> A Study in Frustration: Erynion (Part Two)
> 
> or
> 
> The Cat and the Bear

"Elves are like cats," I informed Erynion, sitting behind him on the horse. "And Men are like dogs."

I could already tell his eyebrows were going up even without seeing it, because there was a dog barking on the side of the road near the farms we were trotting by. Dogs were trained more for hunting and defense in Middle Earth, so they weren't as nice. I'd found that out the hard way when I'd tried to pet one and gotten its teeth in my face. If Erynion didn't think I was mad before, he definitely did after the second time he'd had to pull me clear of a muzzle. In my defense, that second dog looked like a domestic Labrador, and weren't they the nicest dogs?

"In my home dogs are nice," I said wistfully. "They are soft and friendly. They are family."

Erynion didn't respond, as expected. I was bothering him precisely because he didn't let me have my own horse. It's not like it didn't make sense to give me one, but no one had listened to me. It was a rare instance when Boromir, Faramir, and Erynion agreed. (Gandalf had disappeared before I could get his vote, the elusive bastard.)

"This horse is grumpy," I added, using one of my new and awesome words. Erynion had taught me this one because he used it to describe Boromir frequently. I used it to describe the elf _to_ Boromir frequently. I figured that was only fair.

I had a lot more to say on the subject of the horse, but Erynion was apparently already tired of me talking about it. I found the idiom "beating a dead horse" too ironic not to appreciate in this circumstance. Erynion hadn't gotten it when I'd explained it.

"Family?"

"Yes," I replied, pleased for any conversation frankly. Riding in silence was boring. "I had three dogs. They were nice. I patted them a lot."

Silence. Well, there went my conversation.

"Do you have pets, Erynion?"

I think he shook his head, though it could have been the wind.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" It was awfully nice outside, with a blue sky clear to the horizon, and fields and farms all around… you know, on second glance it was terribly dull. Put a car on the road and it wouldn't look much different than rural parts of my home.

"Brother." It was almost inaudible, but luckily we'd left the barking dog behind. (On a side note, I'd been horribly disappointed when I realized that horses didn't _clip-clop_ except on stone, and really it sounded better on cobblestone. No one had understood my momentary devastation.)

"What's his name?"

"…"

"Erynion?"

I worried suddenly that his brother might be dead. But no, Erynion was just being his usual taciturn self.

"Ethiron."

"What?"

"Ethiron."

"Your brother's name?"

"Yes." He sounded irritated, which I thought was perfectly unjustified. I thought he and I were past the "what's your favorite color" phase of friendship, but clearly he didn't. Actually, I didn't know his favorite color. Maybe we weren't there yet after all.

"He is in Lothlórien?"

No reply. I was going to take that as a "duh Maddie, of course he is" response.

"He is… job like you?" I didn't know exactly what Erynion did, actually. Hunter? Scout? Warrior? Messenger? Random Elf that left home for shits and giggles and then wound up volunteering to stick with a human and come to regret it?

"Does he… look like you? Yellow hair?"

Said hair blew back at that exact moment in a small gust of wind and straight into my face. I didn't sneeze, but it was a near thing, and I batted his hair away. "I should braid your hair," I told him, gleefully imagining Erynion with a head full of tiny mismatched braids.

Of course, I'd probably have an early burial if I tried, but I was going to have his hair in my face the whole trip if I couldn't tie it back somehow. "Can I ride front?"

"No."

Fine. It was going to be that way.

"Are we there yet?"

* * *

"It's night. Why are we walking?" I muttered, trudging along behind Erynion and complaining under my breath (it was perfectly audible to him, which was why I was doing it).

I'd been having as good a sleep as I could on the hard ground when Erynion had unceremoniously woken me for a midnight stroll. In the forest. When it was cold. Without a single explanation and an utter refusal to talk to me at all. He'd interrupted a perfectly good dream about pancakes too.

Erynion stopped walking abruptly to start listening hard, so I stopped talking for the moment but couldn't hear anything. He had his head cocked like a dog, except that his eyes were eerily catching the moonlight the way a cat's eyes did. As though Elves didn't have enough super attributes, they got night vision on top of agility, speed, dirt-repellent hair, pimple-less skin…

Now I was aggravated _and_ cranky. What was a creature that hated to be woken up?

"I am a… shit I don't know the word," I finished in English. How did you say bear in Westron? How did you describe a bear in Westron?

We kept walking a little longer, Erynion weaving between trees and keeping off the road for reasons known only to him and apparently not sharable no matter how much prodding I did. I spent much of it asking questions that got no answers and pondering bears.

"Erynion," I said with exasperation as we stopped for what had to be the third time so he could listen to the magical fairies whispering to him. "Hearing voices is a bad sign," I commented in English, only to see him carefully and slowly draw his bow off the horse's saddle.

That made me nervous. More nervous than anything else, because the only time Erynion had ever drawn his bow was to hunt, and midnight was an odd time for a spontaneous hunting lesson. All thoughts of bears and schizophrenia vanished. "What is it?" I hissed, but he only shook his head and didn't say anything. "Erynion… what is there?"

He crouched even lower, freezing in place, and I slunk down to the ground glad Gondorian dresses generally came in bland colors. He looked graceful and serene somehow, but my legs were cramping up and I was still feeling cranky. If there was something out there about to eat us, then could it just hurry up already?

Finally he took his finger off the string of the bow and relaxed, and I lurched up, giving him a dirty look. If I got a charley horse later I knew whom to blame. "What was that? Erynion, I don't understand."

I think I heard him sigh, but that might have just been the wind.

"Bandits."

"What?"

But he was already walking again, never mind an explanation. He kept several steps ahead of me as I led the horse along, ignoring my questions about this word. (Maybe it meant bear? Were there bears near Minas Tirith? Why didn't I ask Boromir this when I had the chance and somebody would actually _answer_ my questions?)

It was almost dawn by the time Erynion led us out of the trees and back near the road, and by this time my patience was thoroughly shot. I'd been willing to go along with whatever impulsive urge or danger appeared, and I'd been quiet like he'd wanted—I whispered my complaints and questions the whole time—but now I really wanted some damn answers.

"Erynion." I snapped his name, but it didn't have quite the strength or demand I was going for. How did my mother do it? Channeling her anger most likely. "What is bandits?"

Silence.

"Erynion!" That was my sixteenth warning today, and the last one he was getting. I'd had enough.

I dropped the reins and ran ahead of him, planting myself in the way. He was not going to ignore me any longer because I wasn't a child who could be left in the dark. I was a bear, and Erynion was a haughty cat. "Erynion. Tell me. What is bandits. Why we are walking at night?"

"Bandits kidnap people."

I wanted to scream at his blasé reply and his deliberate use of vocabulary I didn't know. "I don't know words!"

His eyebrow lifted for the barest second, unimpressed by my frustration. "They take people," he said eventually. It was clear I wasn't moving until he explained.

"Take them? Where?"

"Slaves."

"What. Is. Slaves."

He stared me straight in the face, eerily blank. "People forced to work for no money."

I stopped huffing quite so much like a bear. Bandits attacked people on the road and forced them… into _slavery_. I chewed my lower lip, understanding now and torn between wanting to rip a new one into him for dragging me around blind all night like I couldn't handle that simple truth, and letting this one go.

…Nope, I was still angry.

"Why you not tell me?"

He just looked at me, like somehow this was obvious or that it didn't matter. How could he possibly be this nonverbal?

"I am not child Erynion. I know slaves. My people had slaves." His eyes narrowed at that last sentence, and I quickly backtracked. "Long ago. Long, long, long ago people had slaves." Okay, not as long as I wished (or how about never?) because a hundred and fifty years to Erynion wasn't much, even if it was generations to me.

"But I am not baby," I repeated. "We are… we are friends. You tell me and I will be quiet. Tell me there are bandits and I will hide."

That was the heart of it. I was hurt that he hadn't trusted me with something as basic as that, and instead had pulled me around like I was as deadweight. I knew now, thanks to a certain revelation about a book, that I was more naïve then I'd thought, but I wasn't _that_ stupid.

"You were afraid."

"Imagination is worse," I shot back.

"I apologize." Erynion inclined his head for the barest moment, and I felt weird and uncomfortable, not smug.

"Well…" And that's when my calf cramped up and I went down cursing him.

* * *

As mentioned previously, I didn't get my own horse thanks to the machinations of Faramir, Boromir and Erynion. The only horse I got was a charley horse, which Erynion didn't even have the decency to massage away, but instead stared at me like I was hallucinating it. That elf did not know true pain.

When we reached Rohan that all changed. I got Thunor _and_ temporary payback.

Erynion and I rode to Edoras, where we met Éomer again and this time Éowyn too, who was definitely my sister in some other universe. She was the one who recommended Thunor to me, which at first, second, _and_ third glance made her seem perfectly crazy, but by about the fourth (okay, really, the sixth) look at it, was actually a smart thing. Thunor was good at ganging up on Erynion.

At least until Erynion figured out how to bribe the damn horse.

We spent about two weeks in Edoras, which was two weeks longer than Erynion had wanted. He wanted to get supplies and leave, but Éomer was a big believer in horses and horse-travel (Rohirrim were quite intractable when it came to horses, which proved to be in my favor) so when I'd mentioned I really wanted to ride my own horse Éomer was right there behind me. But when Éowyn brought Thunor out I needed two weeks just to figure out how the saddle worked and how to even get up on said huge horse. Really though, it ended up as an excuse to hang out with Éowyn and teach Thunor how to mess up Erynion's hair. This was successful exactly three times, and then the elf wised up and learned that Thunor is easy to corrupt with food and flattery.

Somewhat ironically, Erynion and Éomer seemed to bond a bit after having to deal with Éowyn and I. In particular, there was one incident involving Éowyn and me plus three bottles of high-quality mead—Éowyn brought them to the inn, not me. It included a bareback riding foray through some fields that we called Elf-style, which Erynion didn't find amusing because he has the sense of humor of a rock, and climbing over a fence or two. I didn't know that super tall fence was the wall of Edoras until later, when Éomer rode out to find me and Éowyn flopped back on the grass discussing why men had such long hair here, and how Erynion didn't tangle his up in every stiff breeze.

(I tried to get Erynion to try that mead later, but he refused, the spoilsport.)

It was really a good thing Éowyn is Éomer's sister, and that Éomer is a fancy marshal, and also that Erynion is an elf and can get me out of most anything. It wasn't technically a crime to climb the outer wall of Edoras since no one had thought to make a law against it. Most people who climb the wall are trying to steal something or attack Rohan, not trying to teach Middle Earth women about cowboys. No one had actually seen us either but one guy in a guard tower. He had conveniently fallen over himself not to tell a soul when Éowyn, still weaving a bit from the drink, batted her eyes at him. But seriously, try pinning a crime on an elf and see how well that sticks. They are like beacons of morality, which I find very funny because Erynion can be shockingly unhelpful.

Case in point, the dwarves.

On our way back to Lothlórien after leaving Edoras we ran into some dwarf traders heading in the same direction. I was all for joining parties, especially when Bofur, who sported an awesome hat, was super friendly and offered to save me from the bore that was my Elf companion. Erynion protested, which was a novelty itself because he _never_ speaks up. But protest he did, and stubbornly stick to the dwarves did I.

I guess I had forgotten that Elves and Dwarves don't get along, but Erynion certainly made that obvious. He never rode by them, rarely talked to them, and otherwise acted like a cat that had been put in a bath. I was mostly amused, but as the days wore on I began to see that Erynion genuinely was uncomfortable, and that the dwarves had almost nothing pleasant to say about the Elves at all. (Not that Erynion said much about the dwarves to me, but from a few comments the sentiment was obviously the same.)

"Why do you not like Dwarves?" I asked him, plopping next to him with my bedroll. I had decided to sleep by him like old times, but I was immediately starting to regret it because the fire was far away. How discreetly could I inch closer in the night?

"It is complicated."

"No! You can't say that word." Not long after leaving Minas Tirith I'd set a moratorium on that word because he used it as an excuse nine times out of ten. "So why?"

"History."

"Bullshit." I was going to teach Erynion this word one day, right after "arrogant lazy-ass horse". He didn't bat an eye even though he didn't know the word, but I'm fairly sure my tone got across just fine. We had a rapport like that.

"Elves are no friend of Dwarves," he said.

"You could be first," I offered, which was resoundingly rejected. He could be stunningly backwater I discovered, no matter how pretty his hair looked in the sun. "I like them. They are funny."

He just looked at me with a seemingly blank face, but I was pretty sure that was actually Erynion-speak for incredulous.

* * *

"Lady Galadriel will not see you."

"I want to see her."

"If the Lady refuses it then her wishes will be carried out."

"Speak Westron! She knows me? I want to see her."

"No."

* * *

I was not talking to Erynion.

This is actually a very easy thing to do.

See, we crossed through Lothlórien on our way to Rivendell, and I wanted to see Lady Galadriel. After Legolas, she was possibly the most memorable Elf I'd meet in Middle Earth (sorry Elrond, but your eyebrows-of-doom in the movie don't exist in real Middle Earth). I was hoping she'd have some insight into, oh I don't know, why the hell I was here in Middle Earth other than to be a total pain in Erynion's side. Of course, Erynion had barred me from seeing her with some silly excuse about her not wanting to see me. Haldir, who was vaguely familiar in a "what-movie-were-you-in?" way, backed him up.

I had no way of knowing what they said was true, and I'd pouted and argued and stormed around the outskirts of the Elven city (I was only allowed near the edges) to no avail. Did I mention Elves are stubborn? Well they are. They really are.

So now I was riding on Thunor pointedly ignoring Erynion as we left the Golden Wood and made our way north on the west side of the Misty Mountains. It quickly got boring though, but damned if I was going to let that stop me from giving him the silent treatment.

* * *

"No! No no no!" I yelled, standing up to further show how outraged I was as Erynion appeared in the clearing with a deer. A real, genuine, 100% dead deer.

"This is dinner," he said flatly. I would like it to be noted that after almost a week of silence, the first thing I ever said to him was no.

"That is an animal. You killed it. I will not watch. I will… go."

I ran off to Thunor and ducked behind him and away from the campsite. Flashes of the bunny he had butchered for meat before were right behind my eyes. _He didn't have Bambi over his shoulder, that's not Bambi…_

Of course I couldn't stay away forever, and I couldn't go far because I didn't want to be eaten by a bear, so when I did finally come back I saw venison laid out over the fire ready to be eaten.

"It is stuffed with mushrooms," was Erynion's greeting.

More like "I skinned Bambi and stuffed his liver full of fungi after I pulled it out of his bleeding carcass."

The worst part about the whole experience? The deer was delicious. I didn't even like venison, but either Erynion was hiding secret spices in his leggings, or he knew how to cook a mean venison steak.

(In retrospect, I had already noticed by this point he was far too well equipped for a normal human man. I would deny this until my deathbed.)

* * *

Rivendell was… Rivendell. It felt like I hadn't left it all that long ago, especially since the valley didn't really change much at all. As expected one year meant nothing to the Elves. Arasinya looked delighted by my return, but also immediately acted like I hadn't left at all except to compliment me on my not-so-broken-now Westron. Elrond looked more amused at our reappearance than surprised, particularly when he gave Erynion and I rooms next to each other. This just meant I swung by Erynion every morning like he was my daily does of caffeine to figure out what was happening that day and if he was going anywhere interesting that I wanted to go.

Usually he headed to the archery range, so I went to the stables and bothered Thunor—i.e. gave him sugar cubes and apples, because Pavlov wasn't born yet, and I wasn't going to let him love the Elves more than me. Then I went and maybe tried to find Erynion, but he often disappeared the way a cat does, and no amount of catnip will draw them back out. Unfortunately without the Lothlórien elf around I didn't know many people, and Arasinya was less fun than I remembered. Erynion had spoiled me for Elven company (see: sarcasm).

* * *

"Lord Elladan," I said politely to the elf I saw somewhat often near the stables. He was always off on patrols or something at least twice a month. I was testing out different flowers to see if I could braid them into Thunor's hair. (I was maybe a little bored. After a few weeks of rest, hot baths, meals, and limited interaction with Erynion, I was running out of ways to entertain myself.)

"Elrohir," he said without looking at me, and it took me another minute to realize it was the other twin. The Elves seemed to have no problem telling them apart, but I had a feeling there was some infinitesimally small birthmark or something they could see that humans couldn't. Either that or the Elvish mixed in with the leaves embroidered on the twins' tunics actually spelled out their names and everyone else just liked watching me mix them up all the time.

"Lord Elrohir," I corrected. That was exactly as much as I'd ever said to the twins. They were kind of intimidating, always coming in with weaponry strapped on, and it didn't help that I knew they were Elrond's sons too. I'd first met him—or well, one of them—when I'd tried to saddle up the uncooperative Thunor on my own. When he'd talked the impatient destrier into a docile puppy-state that's when I realized I'd have stiff competition for Thunor's love.

"Aragorn will be coming to Rivendell soon. Our father will wish you to speak to him when he returns," the twin said suddenly.

You would think living for so long Elves would learn to speak a little slower. "Okay," I said, blindly agreeing to something about Aragorn and Elrond. Hopefully it wasn't a pre-council talk.

* * *

It was.

For reasons unknown though Elrond _didn't_ ask me to tell Aragorn all. Maybe the elf knew something would change if he did, maybe Elves were all more like Erynion than I thought, I didn't know and no one told me. Either way though, I was warned not to tell any other members of the council anything about my "foresight", only to say that I knew things would end well and we should all hold hands and be optimistic. So I told Aragorn that all would be well, and he looked about as convinced as Erynion did when I told him I totally hadn't tried to ride a sheep while drunk that one time with Éowyn.

Speaking of which, there was a several-month-long wait for the council to get in motion. Frodo had to recover, the envoys from various places had to come, rooms had to be reserved for the meeting, food hoarded for the hobbits, I have no idea what went into this council.

So while waiting for everything to start I reunited with Gandalf, met the hobbits including Frodo, which was exciting and celebrated with lots of food, mistook Mirkwood Elves for Rivendell Elves and then found out they were really Harbor Elves, and most importantly got to see Boromir again.

Poor Boromir, he looked so out of place in Rivendell, though I think he was rather relieved to see me, or that might have been the promise of a bath. He and I often chatted, and I introduced him to the hobbits, and their great appreciation for food that wasn't all vegetarian. It was nice to have at least one other non-magical creature in Rivendell (Aragorn didn't count, because he was raised by Elves and sometimes creepily like one).

The best thing about Boromir being there though was that he could drink Elvish wine. Erynion had done his best to make sure I never got anything but standard wine because of that incident in Rohan. Elvish wine was strong, he claimed, but I vehemently protested his ban because I wasn't a crazy drunk normally, that was all Éowyn's influence and she was miles and miles away. So despite hearing about the amazing experience that was Elvish wine (Erynion was not impressed when I cited Elrond's twin sons for that tidbit, since apparently they had something of a reputation, though no one was entirely clear on what), I hadn't gotten a taste.

Until Boromir that is.

"Can I?"

"It is sweet to my tongue," the Gondorian said dismissively, but I eagerly took the glass and didn't bother figuring out what he'd said. He looked somewhat wary now that he'd handed it over, but there were no take-backs until I'd tried this. As I had that first sip I could only think _take that EryniTHIS IS AMAZING_.

Elladan and Elrohir had not been lying—it was flavorful and better than any other wine I'd had (granted, most wine here was sour, and at home I only drank the cheap stuff). But Erynion was also right: it was potent. Two sips and I could feel it going to my head already. I gave the glass back to Boromir and stole one of his bread rolls despite his annoyed huff, and went to go hide before Erynion saw me. You can bet he'd never let me near a drop again if he knew how fast it'd hit me.

One day, _one day_ , I vowed to myself as I flopped face first on the bed and wondered what the hell the Elves washed the bed sheets with that made them smell so nice, I would see Erynion drunk and would be sober enough to remember it.

Eventually, after finding Erynion's hiding spot in some trees—it was accidental, but he didn't need to know that—and many more marathon eating sessions with the hobbits, the council was finally called to session, and all the secret talks with me, Elrond and Gandalf were done with. I did not have to be at the council itself, since my foresight was something of a secret, but I'd rather hoped that would be the end of my role in all this. Maybe Galadriel would talk to me now.

* * *

"Erynion, I remembered something."

Thunk. Thunk. How many arrows could fit into a bull's eye? A lot, as Erynion was proving.

"It's Boromir. In a forest south of Lothlórien. There are arrows."

Thunk. He stopped and put down his bow slowly, looking at me. He knew my story backwards and forwards since he'd assisting in translating—or rather, guarded the corner of the room since he's so good at it.

"He will die and I want to help him. Boromir is my friend."

I tried to do puppy eyes, but Erynion had proven immune to all forms of wheedling, begging, badly done manipulation, and outright lying.

"Lord Elrond and Mithrandir wish us to return to Gondor and await the battles there."

"I can wait in Rohan. With Éowyn and Éomer. Then we will be close."

Mentioning Éowyn was probably the wrong thing to do, and Erynion's reluctant agreement had only come after days of pushing and threats to just go to Rohan anyway, even without him. It didn't occur to me until later, when the elf had finally assented—though I had a feeling I might still have to run to Rohan anyway—and the council was finished, that Erynion and I had only used "us" and "we" as we argued. It wasn't just me going, it was the two of us.

Good thing too, because I had exactly zero idea of how to save Boromir.

tbc…


	8. Maddie Tells a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie shares the story of Mulan with a nitpicky audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Sorry for the utter lack of historical accuracy and the somewhat terrible rendition of Mulan. For Maddie it's probably been five years or so since she last saw it, and I didn't want to look up details to make her faulty memory seem more authentic. This was meant as a funny idea thanks to a couple readers asking for Maddie "story time", so thank you RandomCitizen and Noree for the inspiration. This is purely silly, so ignore all OOCness because this was not making an attempt at any realism.
> 
> Disclaimer: I make no money from this work. Anything recognizable from The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I also do not own Disney's Mulan.

"This story is for Éowyn, because she asked nicely," I began firmly, shooting a look at Pippin who had started to protest. "You don't have to like it, but if you want to listen you have to be quiet." Pippin closed his mouth and shared a look with Merry, but as long as he was sitting quietly I was happy. I hadn't been expecting quite this audience, but that's what happens when you forget that hobbits have Elven-like ears and gossip like old women.

"Once upon a time, there was a family with a father, mother, grandmother and daughter. They lived in a land called China."

"Is that near your home?" interrupted Gimli. "In the mountains, forests, or plains? Or by the sea?"

I frowned hard at the dwarf. "It's a big land with mountains, forests, _and_ plains, and it's sort of near my home." (Well not really, but Middle Earth thought the world was the size of Europe so I wasn't going to start.) "As I was saying, this family lived in China. But one day China was attacked by their enemy, the Huns. Every family in China had to send one man to fight."

"But who will work the crops?" Boromir asked Faramir beside, and I lightly kicked him in the shin. He was conveniently sitting within reach.

"The women can work the crops just fine. Now as I said, in this family they had only a daughter named Mulan. She was not as elegant or graceful as the other women, but she was very brave. Even so, her father, who had fought in a previous war and was very old, would have to go because he was the only man in the family."

"Do they not bar the elderly from war?" commented Éomer, and I rolled my eyes extra hard at the fourth disruption so far, hearing a frantic few whispers between the hobbits.

"He was not _that_ old, and it's a story. If you want to hear it then stop interrupting me." I gave everyone gathered who had spoken a good stare down. It was Éowyn's birthday soon, and she'd asked if I had any good stories from my homeland in lieu of some physical gift, and of course the story of Mulan had jumped immediately to mind. However, I'd managed to get an audience that started as simply Éowyn and Faramir and now included two kings, two Elves, and two loudmouth hobbits, among others, thanks to said curly-haired scoundrels.

"Now, as I was saying, Mulan's father had to go to war. But he was not fit for war, and Mulan was afraid. So the night before he left, she stole her father's armor, cut her hair short like a man's, and rode to the army camp before dawn."

"Wouldn't she be—"

"Hush Pippin!" Sam chastised, which earned him a smile from me.

"She trained with the men under their handsome captain." I paused for a moment, trying desperately to remember his name. It was definitely something Chinese, but for the life of me I couldn't remember. I'd just skip it for now. "She had to be very careful so no one would learn she was a man, but she was successful. The final task for all the men before they were ready to fight was to climb a great pole with heavy weights on their arms. No man had been able to do it except the captain."

There were a few murmurs about how exactly the weights versus pole worked, but I wasn't going to draw them a diagram.

"Mulan trained and trained, but she had trouble keeping up with the other men. The captain was frustrated with her, and she wanted to prove herself to him, so one day she decided to try and climb the pole." The crowd was hushed now, thankfully. "So that night, she stole the weights from one of the tents, and started to climb. It took her many hours, for the pole was very tall, and it was very hard work. But Mulan was very stubborn and learned how to do it. When dawn came all the other men came outside and found Mulan sitting on top of the pole."

Somehow I wasn't surprised at the lack of appreciative response to that scene, but rather resigned to the tiny arguments that broke out.

"If she leveraged the weight, given how she must weigh less than most of the men, perhaps it would be possible…" muttered Éomer, to which he was promptly smacked by Éowyn.

"The matter of her weight or not, she still did what none of the men could. She worked hard and persisted to succeed. Have you forgotten the shieldmaidens of Rohan, brother?" Éomer winced appropriately at her tone, while Faramir tentatively patted her arm. He wisely didn't comment.

"What about among Elves, Legolas? Are they soldiers too?" Merry was asking on the other side of the group.

"Aye, and fearsome warriors they are. Elves do not differ so greatly as men and women do. They're strength of arm is the same."

"Maybe Mulan's people are like Elves then," Pippin said cheerfully, but Merry elbowed him.

"You ever seen your mother swing a frying pan? At least among hobbits womenfolk are more frightening than the men."

"Moving on…" I hinted, and the talk quieted down. "Now that Mulan had climbed the pole, the captain had to acknowledge her as a capable fighter and—"

"She only proved she could climb a pole with weights on, not fight with a sword," Boromir pointed out, though the moment I looked at him he seemed to reconsider. "Though it takes great strength to wield a sword too."

"Exactly," I said, eyeing him for an extra moment. "But by this time the war was upon them. The Huns were attacking, and the captain gathered his troops and went to help the rest of the army. However, things were not going well for China."

There wasn't much reaction to that ominous statement. I really sucked at storytelling.

"The Huns had destroyed much of the army, burning villages in the mountains and leaving behind no survivors. The captain's soldiers hunted after them into the snowy mountains."

"So this China is a land of mountains!" Gimli exclaimed.

"Would it not be wise to regroup with the remains of the army in a defensible place rather than take a few men to fight a larger force?" Faramir wondered out loud, and I shot him a scathing look.

"There was no army to regroup with."

"Then the Huns decimated the army of China? Were they not already lost then?"

"Faramir!" snapped Éowyn. "It is a story!"

"Forgive me," he said a bit belatedly, and I gave Éowyn a short smile.

"It's an old story," I amended, also taking into account how Disney had likely altered it; battle details and accuracy was probably the last thing they had been thinking about. "Anyway, the captain led his forces to find the Huns, and find them they did. The Huns had the high ground atop a mountain, but the men of China (and single woman) did not fear the enemy. And so they fought." I had a feeling I'd missed something in between scene changes in this story, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen this movie.

"Mulan realized quickly that there was little chance of success. The men would rather die fighting than surrender, which is all well and good except China would still be lost." There were a few muffled sounds of protest, but it was hard to argue with that logic, and I wasn't interested. "Mulan realized that the Huns and the army were fighting under a great snowy peak—"

"You said they were on top of a mountain!" Gimli interrupted.

"It wasn't the summit of a mountain," I retorted. "Just on a mountain. There were taller peaks around."

"What army would go over a mountain and not under?" he grumbled.

"The Great Wall of China was in the way. China built it long ago to stop northern invaders, so the Huns had to go through the mountains to go around." I regretted explaining that though very quickly.

"Like the Rammas Echor?" inquired Boromir, and I pinched my nose to stave off a headache.

"It did not just protect a city, it protected the northern border of China."

"It must have been a very small kingdom indeed," said Éomer skeptically, but I was definitely done with this argument.

"The Great Wall of China doesn't matter here. We were talking about snowy peaks and a battle. Now, Mulan saw that the fighting was happening under a snow-covered mountain. So she took one of the great cannons the Chinese make and pointed it at this peak." _Shoot, I forgot Mushu_.

"What is a cannon?" Legolas suddenly asked, and I realized belatedly they didn't have those yet. Gunpowder was required.

"It's a weapon, something like a firework except inside there is a big metal ball inside. When it explodes, the metal ball shoots out and hits lots of things. Like a catapult." Yeah, that was possibly the worst explanation of a cannon I could make.

"I wonder if Gandalf could make one," Pippin said aloud.

"How effective is it in war? Are these metal balls not heavy?" Boromir demanded before I could respond to the hobbit.

"It was quite effective, actually. And yes cannons are heavy and slow, but the balls come out very fast and one hit could kill twenty men." Good thing I didn't have to cite sources in Middle Earth. "They are smaller than catapults and on wheels."

Wait, shoot, those were not Chinese cannons I was thinking of like in Mulan, I was thinking of much later ones. I hesitated, but then I figured I could brush right over it. They wouldn't know the difference. "Anyway, the captain yelled to Mulan to aim the cannon at the Huns, but she turned it to the mountain. Then she lit the cannon and shot a metal ball straight at the mountain." For half a second there I thought about adding a sound effect, but figured that would sound stupid given my storytelling ability. "The ball hit the mountain and started an avalanche. No one could escape, and the Huns were quickly buried under mounds and mounds of snow."

"Did she not bury her own men under it too?" Faramir asked quickly.

"Ah, well, the captain told them to retreat, when he realized what Mulan was doing. So most of her men were not buried, no."

"But wouldn't the Huns chase after them, should they sound an early retreat?" Éomer pointed out, and I gave the two men dirty looks. No wonder my storytelling was bad, if questions about battle logistics kept interrupting the flow.

"This is my story, and I say she didn't bury most of her men. Now," I brushed imaginary dust off my skirt and wished Éomer was within kicking range. "Where was I? Mulan was the hero of the battle, having defeated the Huns with her use of brains, not brawn." Éowyn was definitely smiling at that part. Even if the battle didn't make a lot of sense, at least she was enjoying it. "However, in the fighting Mulan had become injured."

"You didn't say she was fighting," Merry noted.

"Well, she was before she got to the cannons. It was a battle and these things are long." He backed down, so that was something, even if I'd forgotten to mention she'd been injured before the avalanche. "Well Mulan was injured, so she was brought to a healer's tent, where of course the truth about Mulan was discovered."

They looked a bit more anticipatory as I let the silence linger for extra tension. That was good. "In China it was punishable by death for a woman to join the army. When Mulan awoke, the captain brought her outside before his men and announced that Mulan was in fact a woman. No one in the army had known, and many were shocked and angry. Mulan fell to her knees and bowed her head as the captain drew his sword, prepared to die for what she had done, but the captain was merciful and threw his sword to the ground. 'You will be spared this once,' he said." I didn't bother adding voices to the story, because this was a serious scene and no doubt everyone would laugh at my bad attempt at a male voice. "Because she had saved the army and defeated the Huns, the captain let her go."

"On a snowy mountain?" Sam said abruptly, and I had to crane to see him from where he was sitting half behind Gimli.

"Um, well, it all works out. The soldiers and the captain left to go to the capital city to declare their victory. Mulan was supposed to go home though, which was the opposite direction. So when she left the mountains, she saw what no one else did: the Huns were not all dead. Their great leader, Attila the Hun, was still alive and very, very angry." That was the only Hun I'd ever heard of, and I was fairly sure Genghis Khan was Mongolian. My villain ought to have a name though.

"Mulan raced on her horse—"

"Well at least they left her the horse," snorted Éomer, who got hit again by his sister. I was extra proud to be her friend in that moment.

"—to the capital city to warn the king. There was a great celebration happening for the captain and returning soldiers, who were now heroes of China. The king was giving them great gifts for their deeds when Mulan burst from the crowd to announce that the Huns were coming." I couldn't say my audience was riveted, but at least there weren't any interruptions for the moment.

"But Mulan was too late. Attila the Hun reached the city and snuck in with the few men he had left and tried to kidnap the king." I glanced at Aragorn, who was seated somewhere in the back with Arwen. I had been really nervous when they'd come in, but luckily they hadn't been among those interrupting, so they'd been easy to forget. "The king was very old, and so could not fight. The captain fought very hard against Attila the Hun, but Attila was big and strong, and did not tire at all. Soon the captain was overwhelmed, and Mulan took up his sword." I looked down at Éowyn then, pleased by the mild smile on her face.

"Mulan was small and fast, and she was determined to protect her homeland." I had a pause for half a second, because I couldn't actually remember how she'd won. Something about a fan? "She and Attila dueled on the top of the castle tower, and finally she was driven to the edge, but rather than fall, Mulan, who had studied dancing as a child, was very quick, and turned so Attila's back was to the edge. Then with a last blow, she sent him off the top of the tower plunging to his death." It was suitably awesome, as any climatic battle had to be, I thought to myself.

"Mulan was hailed as a hero, for going above and beyond her duty to her people. She was given Attila's sword to remember her deed, and a great gold necklace announcing her the hero by the grateful king. At her home however, there was no news of this yet, and her parents were very sad because they thought she had died at war."

"Why did her father not simply retrieve her from the camp?" interrupted Boromir suddenly. And here I'd thought I could finish the story in peace.

"Because it would mean her death if she were found out. When she left, there was nothing they could do."

"Surely as an esteemed soldier he might be able to curry some leniency," Boromir murmured to himself, which I pointedly ignored because I wasn't going to argue it.

"When Mulan returned home, dressed in armor with a great sword and a gold necklace, her parents were overjoyed. Never had her father expected such greatness as this from his rebellious daughter. And thus was the story of Mulan born, the great hero of a China and inspiration to women. The End."

It was a pretty lame ending, but I didn't remember Mulan getting together with the hot captain, except that he came by in the end. Frankly, this story was for Éowyn anyway, who wanted to hear about brave female warriors not romance—she had her own romance happening anyway.

"I want to see if Gandalf can make a cannon," Pippin said to Merry, already tugging the other hobbit out the door.

"Interesting story lass, though I wonder at its truth," Gimli told me as he came forward.

"I have seen the Dwarvish women, Gimli, if you can call them that, and they are as fierce as the men," chided Legolas. Gimli puffed up at the mild reprimand to point out that his women were indeed fierce, while all Elves were dainty at best. "It was an excellent story," Legolas added to me, probably a white lie as he followed behind Gimli out the door.

"A fascinating story," complimented Faramir.

"Your battle strategy could use a bit of help though," his brother added.

"I can admit that I don't remember most of that when it comes to the story. It only matters to you soldiers anyway." I teased.

"I will say that the avalanche was a clever strategy," Boromir surrendered gracefully.

"I enjoyed the whole story very much," Éowyn said perkily, coming beside Faramir. "It is no wonder you are not like other women in this world, if you come from lands with stories like that. If you have more I should like to hear them."

"Of course, though you'll have to give me time to remember them. It's been quite awhile since I've heard them."

"You should try writing them down," Boromir offered, as his brother escorted Éowyn out while Éomer watched them a tad suspiciously. The King of Rohan was still getting used to the idea of Faramir courting his sister.

"My Westron spelling is very bad, but perhaps I could do it in English and then translate it." It would be a nice thing to do in my spare time, which I unfortunately had quite a bit of.

"If you should," said a melodic voice, and it was Queen Arwen drifting over on the arm of the king, "then I should ask you to make two copies. I think my brothers in Rivendell would like to read this."

My cheeks burned as I curtsied and dipped my head, very, very pleased she had liked it. If I had thought some Elves were hard to look at, Arwen was like looking straight into the face of an angel. "I would be honored."

The two royals took their leave then, and Boromir offered me his arm. "I will have some parchment and ink sent to your rooms. If you should need help writing the battle, call upon me."

I laughed, because he seemed so affronted at my inability to properly describe the battle. Somewhere on a snowy mountain indeed. I slipped my arm through his so he could escort me out. "Alright then, and perhaps you can help me with my translating. I fear some things do not go from English to Westron well."

"As you wish," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.


	9. Third Wheel (Boromir/Maddie & Éomer/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift fic for Guibass: Maddie is made to chaperone an outing between Faramir and Éowyn by both Éomer and Boromir because neither trusts the other with their younger sibling? Éowyn and Faramir keep trying to lose Maddie while exploring Minas Tirith all while giving Maddie advice on how to court Boromir or Éomer (since both want to call Maddie an in-law, but they want her to be their in-law).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: A gift fic for the lovely Guibass, who has been an immense help with some of these recent tough chapters and a great inspiration for many of the drabbles. She asked for this in particular, so I hope I've done it justice:
> 
> Maddie is made to chaperone an outing between Faramir and Éowyn by both Éomer and Boromir because neither trusts the other with their younger sibling? Éowyn and Faramir keep trying to lose Maddie while exploring Minas Tirith all while giving Maddie advice on how to court Boromir or Éomer (since both want to call Maddie an in-law, but they want her to be their in-law).

"She convinced you to jump Edoras' wall!"

"I wish I'd never told you that," I complained as Boromir again brought up that incident. He liked to mention it whenever he thought I was doing something irrational, and especially if it involved Éowyn. (Which, surprisingly, was less frequent than one might assume. I made plenty of bad decisions all by myself.)

"I am only asking that you make sure nothing undue occurs. I would not wish pain upon my brother should gossip about his courtship be less than exemplary."

"I don't know what that last word means, but I get it. I will supervise, even if I think you are ridiculous." I said it fondly, but mostly with exasperation. I didn't really have anything else to do that was important, but Boromir was being silly in my opinion. Faramir and Éowyn's relationship would hardly flourish with someone watching their every move. Not to mention it would just convince Éowyn to be sneakier about meeting with him.

Of course, that logic didn't work with Éomer either, who also cornered me about an hour later. Did these leaders and kings really have nothing better to do?

"I ask this favor with thoughts of my sister, who I rightly believe you would wish no ill?"

"Of course not!" I said indignantly. This was before I knew what he was asking of course.

"Then when Éowyn goes to meet Captain Faramir today, I would ask that you be a chaperone to their outing. No matter a man's rank or upbringing I know well what beauty can do to him." My eyebrow shot up at what he was implying about Faramir, but Éomer plowed on heedlessly. "I also know my sister well, and I want nothing to stain her image. Will you do this for me?"

"I don't think it's really necessary—"

"I will not have her name tarnished or worse by an eager Gondorian and their ideas of courtship," interrupted Éomer. Boromir had said something of the sort too, except instead of Gondorian he'd said horsemen, though with equal disgust. Neither seemed to hold the other in high regard when it came to courting their siblings.

"Okay, okay, I will play chaperone."

"You do me a great service," he said, clasping my shoulder for half a second before realizing I wasn't a guy and that wasn't really appropriate. He hastily pulled his hand back, which was more amusing for me.

And thus I found myself haunting Éowyn's footsteps to the small courtyard where she was meeting Faramir.

"You really don't have to stay."

"I told Éomer I would." I didn't really want to do this, but I could hardly ditch after promising _both_ Éomer and Boromir I would stick around. They'd probably find me skulking around somewhere and be extra pissed that I had left Éowyn and Faramir alone so the two could get up to something devious—at least devious by their brothers' standards.

"Oh? So you talked to Éomer recently?" Éowyn was looking sly, even as she patted down here hair for the umpteenth time. I wished I could just tell her how head-over-heels in love Faramir was with her, but people never believed you when you told them.

"If by talked you mean demanded."

"He is King of Rohan you know."

"Well, yes, obviously I know." I'd been there at his crowning after all. And also known he would be king a good few months before everyone else. "It doesn't mean he can't ask politely."

"You should try to speak to him more. He only talks with advisors or his soldiers now, and I think he could do with more womanly company." Éowyn was giving me a knowing look, except I wasn't sure what knowledge she was trying to impart.

"Well couldn't you talk to him then?"

"No, no, I think you should," she added dismissively. "It's traditional in Rohan for a woman to show interest before a man can pursue."

I was about to retort that she had just given me a good reason _not_ to talk to Éomer when Faramir appeared, looking dapper in an embroidered dark red tunic and grey pants. He didn't look nervous, but then again he looked a bit struck for a moment when he glimpsed Éowyn in her new blue dress. There was an awkward moment where I just stood to the side as they greeted each other politely before Faramir finally noticed I wasn't leaving.

"Miss Maddie, can I help you?"

"Uh… I'm here to chaperone you two." There was a crinkle in his brow for all of two seconds before he smoothed out into a more exasperated look.

"Let me guess, my brother had something to do with this?"

"Him and Éomer both," I conceded.

"There is no chance you could go back and bother Boromir then, I suppose?" he asked mildly, but I was already shaking my head.

"I had to promise them both, so he'll just send me back to find you. I will do my best to stay out of your way. I don't even know _what_ I'm chaperoning, since rules of courtship are a lot looser in my homeland than here." I was more muttering the last part to myself, but Éowyn looked downright delightful at that.

"There's no chaperones then in your homeland? What are the rules there?"

"It could be a good way to learn of new cultures," Faramir said more thoughtfully, but I was not that easily tricked.

"Boromir and Éomer are not going to buy it if I tell them I let you sneak off together because it's acceptable where I am from." I was rolling my eyes already imagining the twin looks of outrage on both men's faces.

"Well I suppose we'll just have to make do," Éowyn said agreeably, which made me instantly suspicious. "You can learn a thing or two about Rohirrim courtship today and maybe ask Éomer if you have questions."

"Or I could ask you."

Éowyn wasn't listening to me anymore though. She was communicating something unspoken to Faramir, who offered her his arm. "Considering we are in Gondor, it's likely Miss Maddie would learn more of Gondorian courtship," he tacked on conversationally. "As the eldest son, Boromir is quite familiar with all that entails."

There was a friendly rivalry going on here, but more importantly I was temporarily out of the picture. They strolled off, chatting about the differences in braiding styles or something, and I lingered behind them slowly following. I _really_ didn't want to be the overbearing presence on their outing, but I still felt like the parent in the kitchen keeping an ear out for noises from their teenager's bedroom when they brought a date back.

Soon enough I was bored, because watching somebody else going on a date is lonely and dull. As I followed them though courtyards and gardens, I was starting to count all the varieties of plants and wondering to myself how many gardeners it took to maintain them. Were they employed by the king? Or did each level have it's own system of management? Who actually made the decisions about each garden? Was there a map with all the flowers marked on it? And could somebody actually make a map of Minas Tirith while they were at it? All these side streets were terribly confusing, doubly so because the first and second levels had been rebuilt quite a bit and were thus totally new to me.

The next time I looked up from my musings, they were gone.

 _Shit_ , I thought, listening to see if I could hear their conversation, but there wasn't anything but the pattering of feet of the servant across the hall. I ran down to the end of the corridor, but it split in two different directions, and there wasn't a single clue to see which way they'd gone. _Crap, Boromir and Éomer will be really mad if I come back and tell them I lost them._

I gave a moment's thought that the two might not ask me to do this again if I failed really badly at it, but more likely they'd just try to tighten their grip on the courtship. Or worse, Éowyn would end up with her brother or future brother-in-law trying to tag along. So really, I was doing this for her.

So I went hunting. I took the first right and then the next one, carefully listening for Éowyn's laugh, and asking every servant I saw if they'd seen the couple. Thankfully it didn't take me long to find someone who had.

"They're down a level, milady, among the fountains."

"Thank you!" I said gratefully to the maid, who looked quite flustered as I ran by her. I rushed down the stairs in a swirl of skirts, thinking it was likely Éowyn would try to bolt and take Faramir with her. When I got to the edge of the fountains I saw her and Faramir leaning on each and laughing breathlessly.

"It's not funny running away! I didn't ask to do this."

The couple turned as one, with Faramir looking a little conciliatory but Éowyn not at all. "You could just find a quiet corner somewhere or go riding and no one would know."

"As though a guard wouldn't tell Boromir I left the city," I said with a snort.

"Éomer would never make such a request if you lived in Edoras," Éowyn replied smoothly.

"Gondor is a much bigger land, and as important a citizen as Miss Maddie must be accounted for," chided Faramir. "Boromir only desires the best for you. The next time you go riding you should invite him. He could use the fresh air."

"Nonsense!" protested Éowyn. "When next you go riding take Éomer. You asked me once to teach you jumping, but really Éomer is much better at that. Just make sure you escape to the stable with him afterwards. He would appreciate that." She winked while grinning impishly at me, but all I could wonder is how they'd turned this around to be about me.

"I'm not going riding with either of them!"

I was ignored though, because Éowyn's innuendo hadn't gone over Faramir's head. "If you don't desire your horse as a voyeur," and there was definitely a look between them that made me wonder if I would be chasing _them_ out of the stable by the end of the day, "ask Boromir to see the private training grounds. They're only for high ranking officers, but it's usually quiet in the evenings."

"This is not about Boromir or Éomer, this is about you. Have your fine date and all, but just let me follow in peace. I won't stop you short of… well," I stumbled, remembering a second too late that bringing up any overt sexual reference was not okay according to medieval propriety. "Short of your own stable or training ground ventures."

Éowyn actually blushed a bit, and Faramir looked flustered. Well, well, maybe Boromir and Éomer did have reason to fear some… hanky-panky.

"Shall we continue on then?" Faramir said with a cough, offering her his arm again. They began to stroll once more, and I grumbled for a second under my breath before following.

"I thought you might like to see the hanging vines on the fifth level. Some of the homes have cultivated them, and it can be very beautiful this time of year," Faramir was saying, so we headed down past the guard post to the fifth level, veering into cobbled allies where the buildings came close together.

It was an easy walk in the echoing side streets of the pretty fifth level, noting the almost renaissance style balconies with overhead vines, and the beautiful carvings on the doors. I kept the couple in the corner of my eye, but otherwise drifted along behind them trying to be as much a part of the scenery as possible. Éowyn and Faramir were talking in soft voices and eventually came to a stop near an intersection of streets.

"There's a small street of vendors over there," Faramir said, waving off to the left. "If you do not want to make a fuss, wait here and I'll bring us a snack."

Éowyn nodded to him, and when he'd left she beckoned me over. "Gondorian men are thoughtful, yes, but in Rohan there isn't this kind of sneaking around."

I sighed, not willing to hear more about the virtues of Rohirrim courtship. "Éowyn…"

"See, this is why I told you to take Éomer out riding the next time you go. You are free to do as you please on the plains, where no cares about the gossip of other folk or lots of questions to answer. Rohirrim are very much about respecting personal business."

"Then shouldn't _you_ be doing this with Faramir? Taking him out riding on the plains?" I pushed, mostly so we could stop talking about Éomer and me.

"It would not be entirely appropriate as Faramir is leading the courtship here. I think you need only give Éomer a nudge though."

"I don't think Éomer thinks of me like that," I argued half-heartedly, since Éowyn was clearly having a one-sided conversation with me.

"Don't be silly, it simply hasn't been clear to him. Men, you know," she added conspiratorially. "I'll help you find something suitable to wear that will show your interest. We can pull your hair back in Rohirrim style—that ought to get his attention."

"While I like the loose hair of the Rohirrim on you, my lady Éowyn, I think the Gondorian style suits Miss Maddie," Faramir said as he walked back up the street, a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and something else wrapped in paper in his hands. "She already looks very much a lady. In Gondor though, if I women wishes to encourage the affection of a man she need only seek him out whenever possible. I'm fairly sure Boromir splits his time between his work in the Steward's office and the training grounds—in particular the ones for his guards."

"It would ruin her clothing to be where they're stirring up such dust," Éowyn retorted, and I was starting to feel like a sidepiece to their conversation.

"As though the stable would not? She need only find him in his office. You should bring him some of his meals—he'd be more likely to eat with such lovely company."

"And you will be more likely to eat if you stop talking and start walking," I said grumpily, but Faramir beamed.

"You sound like my brother already."

"She is only grumpy because it would be much more work to attract Boromir's attention. Wear your hair in Rohirrim style and pass Éomer in the halls, smile a bit, and he'll be asking you on walks and gifting you things in no time." With that, Éowyn took up Faramir's arm and marched him away before he could respond. I exhaled and followed along behind, wishing vehemently at that moment I'd run off this morning at the sight of their siblings.

Faramir and Éowyn took up their snack in a small area between houses that had a well. There was a trellis of roses they were admiring as they ate, while I stood on the edge of the courtyard to give them some measure of privacy. It was there though that I attracted the notice of a little boy, dressed in an adorable blue tunic and black pants muddied at the knees from playing.

"Mother says the lady ought to have a pie," he said carefully, holding a miniature cherry pie in his freshly washed hands.

"Well thank you," I said politely, giving him a little half curtsey. I sat down on a nearby bench and took the proffered pie. It was still warm, I thought a bit gleefully. The little boy followed curiously.

"You're Lady Maddie. Is it true you're not from Gondor?" he asked, only throwing a brief glance at one of the buildings, probably in case his mother came looking for him. He had big blue eyes that were looking at me the way I used to look at Elves. I felt a bit self-conscious, but not enough to stop me from eating.

"Yes, it's true." I took as careful a bite as I could of the pie, savoring the warm crust and fruit inside. This pie was divine. "Tell your mother this is delicious."

"She makes the best pies," he said proudly, puffing his chest up a little. I was terrible with children's ages, but he couldn't have been more than eight or nine. "If you want anymore you should come back."

"That I will," I said laughingly, and he smiled at me before jerking his head at the sound of his name.

"Quit botherin' the lady and come back inside!" called a stern voice from a doorway off to the side, and the little boy jumped up and apologized before rushing off.

I had finished about half my pie when Faramir and Éowyn reappeared in the doorway of the courtyard. "You know Boromir is surprisingly good with children," was the first thing out of Faramir's mouth. "Sometimes the soldiers bring along their sons when they train, and he is stern and gentle with them in turn."

"I was going to offer you a piece of this pie, but I won't anymore," I replied with a frown, but Éowyn was already laughing.

"You have never seen Éomer with foals then. He treats them as though they were his own babes." Their friendly rivalry was getting a bit out of hand, but at least it didn't make me feel totally ridiculous for agreeing to their chaperoning gig. I finished off my pie and we continued with their date.

The peace couldn't last though, and by that I mean Éowyn's patience for a watchful eye wore thin. "Oh no," I groaned, looking at the empty bench where I swore they'd been sitting. I'd been distractedly thinking of when I could next take a ride to the beach (sans Boromir or Éomer, since both men would read into an invitation, and if they didn't their siblings would), when one moment the couple had been there and then the next they were gone.

"Come on, Éowyn," I said with frustration, and started walking. I asked a few people I passed, but none of them had seen the couple, which wasn't surprising. There was a lot of talk and gossip about their courtship, so either they had gone back to the sixth or seventh level, or they were trying to slip somewhere quiet in the city.

As far as I knew there were three ways down to the fourth level, and only two ways up to the sixth. I headed back to the check points for the upper level, asking the guards if they had seen them, but I only got bad news. "Lord Faramir? No milady, I've not seen him. Lord Boromir passed through here not long ago though."

"He did?" I think I squeaked. It was tiny, but it was there.

The guard frowned under his helmet. The nosepiece almost touched his mouth it was so long. "Yes, he does routine checks of units below."

"Right, well, thank you. And if you see Boromir… uh, just wave him through." The guard seemed to somehow reflect confusion despite what little of his face I could see, and I hurried away before he could ask what that was about. I had meant to tell him _not_ to tell Boromir I'd come by, but that was just more suspicious.

I stuck to side streets as I headed to the fourth level checkpoints, wondering if Éowyn and Faramir were just playing with me and wandered off somewhere else on this level. I glanced behind me several times just to be sure Éowyn hadn't tried to turn the tables on me.

"Have you seen Lady Éowyn or Lord Faramir?" I asked a guard a bit breathlessly. He had looked quite concerned when I'd come jogging up.

"No milady. They have not come to this gate."

I nodded to show I understood, but I don't think he even saw it because some of the guards were rushing to stand to attention at the guardpost. I ducked behind two of them who had snapped their spears straight just in time to see Éomer ride by on his horse, two of his men behind him and Lord Imrahil beside him. The two men were talking, which was a blessing because it meant Éomer was looking the other direction from me. Even so, I slunk down a bit lower hoping the shadows were in my favor.

They rode by without issue, and I quickly straightened as soon as they turned the corner and the soldiers relaxed. "Right. Thank you." I bustled off before the guard could get another word out.

Twenty minutes and two more checkpoints later, I was back at another balcony overlooking the fourth level, wondering if I was taking this job too seriously. Surely I could just do my own thing, and when I reported back to Éomer and Boromir tonight I could just make something up.

This was starting to sound better and better right up until I pillowed my head on one hand and saw a blonde head followed by a man in dark red and grey climbing down on to the roof of a house.

 _No…_ I thought, but now I was even surer it was them. There was a roof low enough that an adult could slip between the teeth of the balcony edge and land on it, and then jump down into someone's garden. Only Éowyn could convince someone to do that, though I was betting Faramir had known about that spot in the first place.

I glanced down at my dress, and decided attempting parkour without someone to catch me was a bad idea, so I raced back to the nearest checkpoint and quickly hurried through, surprising the guards I'd been questioning not long ago. I kept my eye on that high wall as I wove through the streets in time to spot the guilty couple emerging from someone's garden.

"And where do you think you're going?" I said, planting myself in the middle of the street before I realized exactly how much I sounded like my mother. "I mean, did you actually just climb down that roof to escape me?"

Faramir's hair was all messed up, his tunic askew, and Éowyn's braided crown was a little less tight then before. They'd been busy before they'd attempted that rooftop climb.

"Are you going to report us, dear sister?" Éowyn asked cheekily.

I sighed gustily, just for extra emphasis. "No, because I don't really care. But I was tasked with making sure you didn't thoroughly embarrass yourselves, and while I don't think climbing down roofs is what your brothers meant—" actually, Boromir might have been referring to that too since he knew about the Edoras escapade—"what if someone saw you?"

"Well then…" Éowyn paused, clearly trying to think of some upside. "I don't think anyone saw us. This area is quiet now, and most people are at the markets gathering after lunch."

" _I_ saw you," I reminded them, but Faramir was already brushing the dust off.

"I think we've quite proven our point to our brothers. Please let Boromir know that in all other outings with Lady Éowyn we have been most respectable."

"It's only when we must sneak away for privacy that you find us doing this." They both looked at each other, and then started to laugh. I felt embarrassed, chastised, but also just plain tired now.

"You should tell Boromir and Éomer yourselves. Don't shoot the messenger."

"Pardon?" Faramir asked, coughing a bit in shock.

"I mean, well, don't attack me because I was under orders."

"That doesn't make sense. All soldiers are under orders. In battle you attack whoever attacks you," Éowyn refuted.

" _I mean_ ," I said over her words, "don't shoot the messenger. The messenger is just doing their job, they have nothing to do with it, and if you get a message you don't like it's not their fault. Why am I explaining this to you?" I looked up at the sky, trying to think of anything else I could have done with this day other than this. The fact that I was coming up with a blank was depressing.

"I understand," Faramir said soothingly. "We will speak to them, but you must also report back." Then he slipped back into that poor stranger's garden and came back out with two white flowers. "Tuck those behind your braids."

Éowyn took them from him and started to approach before she froze. "These are Gondorian lilies. You gave them to me at the beginning of our courtship." She looked back at Faramir suspiciously.

"Well if she's going to see Boromir she ought to look nice."

Éowyn's eyes narrowed even more, but she took just one of the blossoms and helped weave it into the folds of my braid over my left ear. "Surely there are some Rohirrim flowers around here."

She poked her head over two garden walls before producing a pretty yellow wildflower. "We wear these in our lacings sometimes," she explained as she tucked it into the ties of my dress. "These flowers are often trampled under the hooves of horses, and yet continue to spring up in fields across Rohan. Éomer will understand the significance."

" _I_ don't understand the significance." I felt dolled up and silly with the flowers, and finally just batted Éowyn's hands away. "I am not courting either of them you know."

"Not yet," Faramir and Éowyn said together, then started to laugh.

"Consider it a little bet of ours. I think the Lady Maddie belongs in Gondor, and matches my brother well, whilst Éowyn believes you more suited for the plains and horses of Rohan and their accompanying horse-lord."

"And I think that you two should worry yourself about your own courtship. If you aren't careful, you'll drive me from Gondor and Rohan both and I'll marry an Elf." There was no heat to that, but it was worth the reaction.

"All right then, enough," Éowyn said a bit jokingly, but also with understanding. "We meant no harm. I suppose I will have to go through my stubborn brother now."

"I am lucky then that he will be leaving with many of his men soon, by the end of the month. I will have more time to work on my own brother," Faramir added, then gave me a somewhat apologetic look.

"Excellent," I chimed in. "That'll give me enough time to escape to Ithilien at least, or maybe Lothlórien." I laughed to show I was only kidding, and thankfully the conversation lightened. The three of us headed back up to the sixth level, thankfully talking about things other than single men and silly flowers, and soon enough both the white blossom and the yellow bloom fell out.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it.

"Beregond," I greeted as I passed through the checkpoint. Éowyn and Faramir were just inside saying goodbye, thankfully in full view of at least ten people, so my chaperoning duties were done.

"You do know," he said in a deceptively casual voice. "That you would be a sister to either of them, whether you marry King Éomer or Steward Boromir."

I was staring at him for a good ten seconds straight before he finally looked at me, clearly hiding a smile. "Tell me there isn't gossip like that."

He hesitated, and that was enough for me to bury my head in my hands.


	10. Dorwinion Dancing (Let Me Part One) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie and Erynion drink and dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: This story is an alternate world from "Let's Stay a Little", so ignore that one entirely. This somewhat follows up on "A Study in Frustration: Erynion (Part Two)", but only a little. Take it as you will, just be aware this was written while tipsy on wine—I do my best drunken writing then. Thank you to lady-kenobi and guibass from Tumblr for you inspiration!
> 
> The song Mondo Bongo is actually from the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith (judge me all you want, it's a great song for these purposes—though Maddie is not nearly as good a dancer as Angelina Jolie). Also, I totally made up the Elvish and I am terribly at poetry, so I'm very sorry.

Legolas appeared in the doorway holding a thick glass bottle with a handwritten label on it. I glanced at Erynion who was sitting in the corner, because that elf loves to haunt the corners of the room. I'd planted myself by the fire because we'd made it to Mirkwood just in time for winter. Gimli was not as bothered by the cold like the Elves, and so was over by the far wall overlooking some of the realm grumbling about tree branches for pathways instead of stone.

"Father has allowed me to share some of our finest wine with our guests," Legolas explained, holding up the bottle. "This is Dorwinion wine. It is unmatched by any other, I assure you."

"Is it Elvish wine?" I asked eagerly. Erynion was definitely staring at me from his corner, but if he wasn't going to get up and physically stop me from getting a glass that was his problem. "I've heard marvelous things about it." And tasted it, but Erynion didn't know that.

"Aye, that grape juice made by the men of the lakes!" Gimli said, trying not to look interested.

"I shall pour you all a glass," Legolas said gamely, deftly handling four glasses at once and giving us all generous portions. I was waiting for Erynion to protest, but the elf didn't twitch. Legolas lifted his up and offered one to me, but I picked up two instead and took one to Erynion, who had just stood up.

"Are you not going to stop me?" I couldn't help asking, wondering if he was relenting for some reason or just being nice.

"I will stop you before you embarrass yourself," he said flatly. Erynion had just made himself designated driver for the night. That made me want all the more to see him really in his cups.

"And who will stop you?" He gave me a dry look, but it was far too late for that elf. I'd be refilling his glass all night if that were what it took.

We went back by the fire and the four of us held up our glasses, or well, the elves and I lowered our glasses to be even with Gimli's.

"A toast," Legolas announced, "to our honored guests from afar, and to a bright future."

"To the Elves for doing one thing right," Gimli added gruffly, "wine."

"To the Mirkwood Elves, for sharing their lovely talents," I said cheekily.

"To the generosity of the woodland folk," Erynion finished, and we all drank to that.

I'd thought my taste of Elvish wine in Rivendell had been good, but clearly that was the $5 Elvish wine compared to this. Dorwinion wine was full-flavored, rich on the tongue but not too heavy, with a thick, fruity scent. I'd thought it would be sweet but it didn't have the bite that could ruin a wine after swallowing. I rolled it in my mouth wondering if making an indecent groan would be terribly rude.

Luckily, Legolas and Gimli weren't paying attention to me because the dwarf was blustering as he tried to hide how amazing he thought this wine was. Erynion though was watching me carefully.

"Is this your favorite wine Erynion?" I asked, swinging around to look at him. He'd taken no more than a sip, so I took another, savoring the way he eyed me, like I'd immediately try to go on another joyride with two mouthfuls in me.

It was totally going to take at least the glass. And we'd see how far I'd get with the guards.

"Dorwinion wine is special, even among my own people."

"Legolas said it's the king's favorite," I mused then promptly got distracted. Was this wine stronger than the other Elvish one I'd had? Someone needed to label the alcohol content on these things. "The king is kinda scary," I commented, thinking on Thranduil. Even Erynion had looked suitably humble in his presence. I think I'd been a puddle. Talk about intimidating. "Funny how different he and Legolas are. Except the hair. Your hair is more…" I squinted at him, but the firelight was changing the color. "…flaxen."

"Flaxen?" interrupted Legolas. "I do not know this word."

"See, this is what happens when I stop speaking my own language. Then I think of strange and rare words like 'flaxen'." I was talking mostly to myself. Legolas humored me though.

"And what does flaxen mean?"

"Gold. But like… pale-y gold." That was more English, which prompted Legolas to look at Erynion like somehow the Lothlórien elf would know what I was talking about. In the interim I took another sip. Or maybe two. This wine was getting better with every taste.

"Nah, their hair's the same," Gimli huffed. He'd mostly drained his glass already. Was a Dwarf's tolerance higher than a human's? They might be shorter, but they were thicker, so did that even out the mass difference? What was the muscle to fat ratio?

"Nuh uh," I said back, still thinking about liver proportions. But then how did that explain Elves' tolerance? Magic?

"Erynion, did you drink wine as a baby?" I asked suspiciously. Only years and years could build up tolerance, and maybe if you started young and gave them a thousand years an Elf could be tolerant to even this obscenely good wine.

"What are you thinking?" I heard him mutter.

Legolas was pouring himself a second glass, so I took another gulp of mine and mournfully looked at how half-full the glass still was. I had to drink it faster.

"Pace yourself," Erynion said warningly. His glass didn't look drunk at all.

"We should make a game! What about wine pong?" We didn't have enough glasses though, and Legolas was outside talking to a guard. As long as he didn't invite his terrifying father we were all good. "Erynion, do Elves play games when they drink?"

I was incredibly pleased to see I'd caught him mid-sip. He swallowed gracefully, and I definitely watched his throat move with more interest than was friendly. "We dance."

I definitely gasped. Mostly for theatrics, but also at the thought of seeing Erynion dance. "You must dance for me then!"

"No."

"Legolas can find music." I was determined. This was happening. "Legolas! We need music!" I cried, taking another good mouthful of wine. Wow this stuff was heady.

"Why don't you dance lass?" Gimli yelled from about two feet away. His cheeks were red under the beard, which I gleefully pointed out to him. He slurred angrily, "'m not drunk!"

"How about Dwarvish dancing?" I offered. I thought I saw Erynion snort into his wine glass, but when I looked at him he was as serene as usual. Suspicious.

"Auck!" Gimli made some kind of choking noise. He'd swallowed too much wine in one gulp, which I supposed meant we'd see no Dwarvish dancing.

Erynion was still sipping, like he either wasn't enjoying it or savoring it so slowly he'd finish his drink by tomorrow. Instead of focusing on it though, he was watching me like he was waiting for me to topple over.

"Cheers, Erynion," I tapped his glass with mine and drained the last of it. One glass down. However many Legolas had left to go.

"You _should_ dance for us," Legolas said upon reentering, this time with some kind of lyre instrument in hand. I'd forgotten he'd be able to hear everything said from outside.

"But you don't know any of my songs," I protested. I wasn't drunk enough to think I could even remotely sing. I didn't know what "tone-deaf" was in Westron, but I'd find out soon as I opened my mouth. "And my music is different."

"Can't be that different," Gimli groused. I went to pick up the Dorwinion bottle, and glanced over my shoulder to see Erynion hovering a hair closer than before. I wasn't _that_ uncoordinated that I'd drop the bottle yet.

…Though I may have spilt a little on my hand, but I licked my thumb clean and gave Erynion a cheeky smile. "Well your songs are about heroes and love. While… our songs are about love too. But also other things."

Legolas nodded as he filled both his and Gimli's glasses again. I could see now that he had some of the white-blond hair of his father mixed in with the gold. Gimli's beard was still reddish-brown, though the fire made it seem a bolder auburn.

"War?" Erynion said somberly taking a seat by the window. I whirled to look at him too fast and got dizzy. He stood up like he'd help me regain my bearings, but I did all right on my own, and he sank back into his seat, smooth the way I absolutely wasn't right now.

"No no! That's horribly sad. We sing about… well…" I didn't know the word, but that wasn't what was stopping me. We sing about sex, frankly, and that was the last thing that would be acceptable to say. "How about you sing Erynion? I have never heard you, and I have never seen you dance. This is a sad thing." I would have said travesty if I'd known how. Instead I took another sip of wine.

He was already shaking his head, and Legolas was strumming the lyre regardless.

"How about a proper drinking song from the Laketown men?" the Wood Elf called, and Gimli "here here'd" from where he was now sitting on the table. If it hadn't been Elvish made, I'd have been afraid it would crack.

"Erynion?" I asked softly, where the seated elf leaned back in his chair, almost in shadow except for his brilliant hair and eyes. The only other seat available was by the fire, away from him.

"What do your people sing about?" he asked quietly, taking a long draught that emptied his glass. I chose to ignore the question and refill both of our cups instead. This time his hand was raised over mine as I poured just in case. He was definitely loosening up, which meant I had to be completely drunk.

"What would you sing about?" I asked him.

"Lúthien."

"Who?" I asked, but Erynion stared into his wine and didn't say more. If he was a broody drunk then I was going to be really disappointed.

"Come Erynion, tell me who Lúthien is." I looked around for a seat but there wasn't any nearby. I could drag the heavy chair, but that seemed such a burden, and I might miss what Erynion said. I glanced at him, noticing the relaxed stance he had in the chair. He legs were spread, tunic dipping below the collarbone, hair a bit messy. Elves always looked so put-together, Erynion included, so I was particularly excited at the sight of a more languid Elf. That it was Erynion was a bonus.

Before I could rethink it, I plopped myself down in his lap. However, I wasn't very accurate and ending up almost falling over and onto the ground. Erynion's free hand darted out and grasped my waist, easily hauling me upright. I acknowledged his save with a pat to the hand.

"Tell me who Lúthien is."

"An Elf."

"Well duh," I said encouragingly, nudging him to sip. He did so, and I have to say this stuff must have been _really_ potent if it was putting an Elf under. Legolas was still singing slowly in the background, adding to the sultry atmosphere.

"She was the greatest beauty among Elves. Lady Arwen is of her likeness." Erynion looked about to say more, but he took another sip of wine instead. Arwen certainly was beautiful, I thought to myself.

"They are like peanut butter and jelly," I mused, thinking on the new King of Gondor and his wife.

"Like what?" Erynion interrupted, but I shushed him.

"Arwen and Aragorn will have a son, you know."

"I thought you did not know anything past the end of the Ring."

"I know bits and pieces." That was a fat lie. It was mostly my memory that was faulty, not what Tolkien wrote.

Erynion shook his head, probably tired of my forgetfulness and occasional ridiculousness. By this point he was stuck with me though.

"Lúthien is remembered in song for her love of Beren, as rare as the love of Idril and Tuor, and Mithrellas and Imrazôr," Erynion continued on solemnly, listing people I didn't know.

"What was special about them?" I asked, but was interrupted by Legolas, who must have overheard. Stupid Elf hearing.

"Aye! Tinúviel and Beren! Truly the saddest of loves!" Legolas cried, changing the strumming of the lyre to something much more resembling a dirge. Gimli grunted from his spot, but I couldn't tell if he was indicating he knew the story or didn't want to hear more "Elvish wailing".

"A Romeo and Juliet then?" I said to the general air, and Erynion squeezed my waist. I'd almost forgotten I had just gone and sat on his lap like it was no big deal. Luckily it was no big deal to him at least or he wasn't showing it. Hard to tell with Elves.

"I do not know these names," he said, and I realized we were almost nose-to-nose. I wanted to sway forward, but when I tried I nearly bumped my shoulder into him. Oops. Eyesight was going wonky.

"Romeo and Juliet," I repeated, rocking back to a sitting position, not realizing how much help I was getting from Erynion to do that. I took another sip of wine, and he watched me with lidded eyes. How far gone was he? How far gone was _I_? "How do I translate the first lines? _Two households…_ shit something about a fair city. It's about two people who fall in love, but their families are rivals and hate each other. And then they die and kill about six people on the way give or take." I said this all matter-of-factly, forgetting that no one in Middle Earth had even remotely heard of Romeo and Juliet. I bet they'd love Shakespeare though.

Erynion's eyebrows were almost into his hairline, and frowning I pressed my fingers to them to push them back down. "It's not true of course. It's just a play. And a famous story."

"Why is it the most famous of stories are tragedies?" Erynion remarked lazily, but didn't move my fingers from where they hovered by his face. I wanted to touch more but didn't dare. I wasn't quite drunk enough for that yet.

So I took another sip, because the night was young and so was I.

"Why is Tinkerbell's story sad?" I glanced back at Legolas and Gimli, but Gimli's glass was empty and he was snoring, while Legolas was broodingly picking at the lyre strings and singing to himself. Erynion and I were the only one's left thinking at all it seemed.

"Tinúviel sacrificed her life and immortality to be with a human."

"…Oh." I took my hand away from Erynion's face, acutely aware that he was ever so slightly glowing, and not because of the fireplace. I knew in that moment that I would have kissed him if he so much as looked at me that way, and I knew that was a more dangerous prospect for him than for me. He would lose a lot more than I would.

Of course, that was the exact moment our eyes met. "Tinúviel was an Elvish women, as was Idril and Mithrellas. Never in our history has an ellon fallen in love with a human woman." We weren't breaking eye contact, and I could feel my eyes starting to water.

"That was a lot of Elvish names," I murmured. We were talking about tragic stories? I couldn't quite remember. Erynion's eyes were _so_ blue, and the fire was reflected back in them making gold lines spiral outwards from the pupil. It was absolutely entrancing.

"I would name you _Lelâlharn_ , for to me you are such." Erynion's thumb was rubbing up and down in a soothing gesture on my side, and I was starting to feel sleepy. I took another gulp of wine to fortify myself and wondered if it would be forward of me to loosen some of the higher lacings of my dress. Either Elves ran hotter than humans, or the fire was very strong in this room.

"What does that mean?"

"It is a stone. One that attracts other stones, drawing some but not others." Erynion definitely was no longer considering my language ability anymore as he spoke, draining another mouthful from his cup. His lips were ruby red from the wine for just a second, before his tongue darted out and wiped them clean. I was definitely staring.

"I have no idea what you just said."

Legolas' playing in the background began to fade out as he started to fall asleep too. I didn't know how many glasses he'd had, but at least as many as Gimli. Dorwinion wine was a strong sleep-inducer it seemed.

It was also a powerful inhibition-reducer.

"Your hair is really soft," I murmured, stroking some of the golden strands. Flaxen had been a poor word to use to describe Erynion's hair. It was more like spun gold, each strand weak in color alone, but together vibrant and eye-catching. "Rumple—Rumbleastick—Rumpleskinslip- stiltskin," I fumbled with the name, but it kept slipping around my tongue. "That little guy. He would be so jealous of your hair."

"What are these words you speak?" he replied, putting the mostly empty glass in his hand down and putting both hands on my waist. Now he could shift to sit up more without unbalancing me. I would have been impressed by his strength again if I hadn't been more distracted by recalling the Grimm's fairytale.

"An old story. There's a woman who promises her first child to Rumblesflin if she… spins thread into gold, and then she has to learn his name? I don't quite remember." I don't think Erynion cared, truth be told. Neither did I, as I stroked those long golden strands. "But I was wrong. Your hair is not flaxen. It is much brighter."

I curled some around my fingers, humming thoughtfully. Erynion's fingers appeared under my chin, tilting it so our eyes met again. "Your eyes… I thought you once naïve and childish, but I see now that it was only this land so far from your own that made you seem this way." His thumb brushed my chin, and somehow I managed to feel both self-conscious and coy. I finished my second glass of Dorwinion wine and felt the self-consciousness melt away.

"I may not know how to saddle a horse—"

"You could not saddle your horse if you tried," he interrupted.

"But I can tell you that electricity will change the world, and also that there will never be anything like an Elf in my land." For some reason that seemed an intimate thing to reveal, even if Erynion no more understood the word "electricity" than I did "Tinúviel". I did not want to look at his wise, intense gaze anymore, so I leaned into him and pressed my cheek into his shoulder, breathing in that piney, wind-blown scent that was Erynion. I hadn't realized how accustomed I'd become to it during all our travels until this moment.

"There is a song about an Elf leading his love to a spring she has never seen before," Erynion said. The hand that was no longer holding his glass of wine started to run through my hair, immediately making me drowsy. He was immensely gentle with every tangle, patient as he finger-combed my hair. I was barely coherent as he started to sing.

_And so the maiden fair and fine_

_Went dancing, dancing_

_Through the veil and then the vine_

_To where the warmth is ever flowing_

I only caught bits and pieces as he sang, so low that often I could not make out the words, but it told the story of an elf introducing his beloved to his favorite spring. I supposed it must be some kind of euphemism, though my mind was too addled by wine to consider of what.

He eventually tapered off around the time I'd finished the tiny braid in his hair and my hair was tangle-free. "Do you have something I can finish this with?" I asked, and from his pocket Erynion produced a small silver string. I wrapped the end of the braid in it, and even though the silver against his hair was barely visible I admired it nonetheless.

He lazily turned to me, eyes hooded as he took in my face, no doubt flushed from the wine and heat of his body. "You do not mind this song?"

"Why should I?"

"It is considered quite bawdy by my people."

"Bawdy?" I wondered aloud, not understanding. Erynion turned out to be only a little more verbal when drunk than he was normally. Instead of explaining, he turned as much of his torso as he could until his lips brushed the top of my ear, sending a shudder through me. I waited with baited breath for his tongue to touch the sensitive curve, but instead he breathed the word "inappropriate" on the shell before leaning away again.

I couldn't stop myself from pressing my lips to the curve of his throat, an equally intimate action, though I didn't know it at the time. I was disappointed and aroused, and didn't know how else to convey it.

"You have not heard _bawdy_ until you've heard my music," I told him. Some corner of me knew I'd normally never sing him a song from my homeland that I wasn't absolutely sure was clean, but right now with this much wine in me, anything sounded good.

"Oh?" He definitely sounded interested, and I was fascinated by the slow, burning look he was giving me. I was definitely feeling hot now, and wondering with increasing fervor how he defined "inappropriate".

"Let me just say that some dances—like tango sometimes—" I said this bit magnanimously, like it was so generous of me to explain something he'd never know otherwise— "often resemble…" I licked my lips, like that would somehow replace the missing word.

"Much as I might wish, I cannot read your mind." My hand on his chest could feel the rumble of his words. My thumb swiped where his shirt dipped low, touching golden skin.

"…I do not know the Westron. It is… between a man and a woman."

I should have been mortified to bring this up with such a conservative society as the Elves, but instead I only felt emboldened as I said it, as though the thought had not struck either of us. (I didn't know if it had struck Erynion, but it had certainly hit me more than once before this night, and I was certainly thinking about it now.)

"A dance…" he trailed off, looking at me somewhere between wonder and deliberation. Could he imagine how sensual some dances could be? And how vulgar others? How smoothly a couple's dance could move from stolid waltz to sexual tango?

"Takes two to tango," I said on the tail end of that thought. Followed by _there are two of us, you know_.

It occurred to me that Erynion might be too shy to ask, and with that thought I knew I'd have to make the first step. In that case, we needed music and somewhere private. Our sleeping company was still too likely to wake if we made noise.

"Where can we go?" I asked feeling bright-eyed suddenly. "I want to dance."

Erynion looked curious, helping me sit up. "At this time of night the gardens…"

"Perfect!" I stood and wobbled a bit, but was balanced in time to pull Erynion up—or rather, pretend to because he didn't need my help. I swiped the unfinished second (or maybe third, I wasn't sure) bottle of Dorwinion off the table and pulled Erynion by the hand out the door.

I didn't know how to get to the gardens, but I made a good guess of it, and Erynion tugged me in the right direction when I went the wrong way. How he knew I couldn't guess. Maybe he asked an elf when my back was turned.

Either way, we ended up deep in one of Eryn Lasgalen's gardens, rimmed on the far edges by trees, and the interior open to the night sky. Erynion was watching the stars while I searched for an alcove. There were many hedges taller than me, and fountains and trees interspersed with flowerbeds and trellises, so it wasn't a challenge to find one that looked secluded enough.

"I don't know how to tango," I admitted, as Erynion leaned against the tree in our spot, watching my every move with those beautiful eyes, "but I will try and show you. It's all in the hips."

I started to sway, even though there was no music, thinking back on a hundred movies and a thousand more songs for inspiration.

Erynion started to hum, but the tune wasn't quite what I was imagining. As I hummed along it began to turn into _Mondo Bongo_ , and soon enough I had the rhythm of the music down. Erynion picked it up easily enough, and with a wine bottle in hand and nothing but starlight and the creek behind me as lighting, I danced slowly on the spot. I'd never felt more sensual in my life, more admired than I did there with Erynion watching as I lost myself in memory of that sound and the feeling of a woman admired.

"Where is the two in tango?" Erynion asked softly, his hand taking the wine bottle from mine.

"I told you I didn't know how," I answered him, swaying my hips slowly in his arms even though he did not dance back. He was not so easy to convince, but at the moment it felt like I could wait an eternity if that's what it took.

" _Lelâlharn_ , why is it when you are being ridiculous you are…" he devolved into Elvish as he led me back to sit down by the tree and I just giggled, twirling as I followed him.

"You are the same," I told him, still laughing. Eventually he convinced me to sit, and we stayed like that for a long while, the sound of the water and the wind in the trees drifting in between snippets of _Mondo Bongo._ Sometimes we talked, but mostly we sipped the last of the wine, and I slowly slumped further and further on to Erynion until I was all but folded into him. Truly, I'd never felt more at peace, though I'm sure the wine helped a good bit.

When the drink was gone and surely the night was reaching its darkest hours, Erynion slipped an arm under my knees and another behind my back, and lifted me bridal style, my head lolling on to his shoulder. I was still trying to sing the song, but the tune was sliding away from me.

"Where are we going?" I asked quietly into the fabric of his tunic. I was going to steal this tunic before the night was through, because it smelled exactly like him.

"To your rooms, so you may rest," he replied, carrying me effortlessly from the garden. If there were still guards around I didn't see them. I drunkenly hoped they wouldn't tell the king about my behavior. Attempted seduction of a fellow guest was probably looked down upon.

"I needn't rest just yet," I protested tiredly, but I must have sounded like the yawning child who refuses to go to bed. I knew I'd lost this one. "Will you remember this tomorrow?"

"I am not so drunk as you," Erynion admitted as he shouldered open the door. I supposed this must be my room, though surely it was too grand. The bed was big enough for three, and I told him so.

He ignored me though and set me upright on the bed, not letting me lay back until I'd drunk two glasses of water. He sat by me the whole time I downed them, and then laughed when I insisted he drink one too. "I will not be so pained as you tomorrow."

"That's not fair," I griped, and I would have said more, but Erynion slipped off the bed and gracefully knelt to remove my slippers. I had trouble not imagining him doing something different from that angle, and so missed his slight wobble as he stood back up and pulled back the sheets. "I can do this," I reminded him. I wasn't that far gone.

"Let me."

"I wanted to be sober when I saw you drunk," I complained as he helped me pull the sheets up. "It's not fair that I am drunker than you."

He was smiling. It wasn't the first time I'd seen it, but it was the first time I couldn't properly appreciate it because of the fog of the wine. I didn't like Dorwinion wine so much now. It was clouding my every thought and making me sleepier. I wanted to revel in my time with drunk Erynion, I wanted to dance more until he joined me, but even now everything we'd said and done was slipping away from me.

Then Erynion was leaning forward and pressing a long, soft kiss to my forehead. Usually such a thing would be either the province of a parent or a guardian, but there was nothing familial about that—even drunk I was sure of it.

"Sleep, _Lelâlharn,_ and may you find peace in your dreams, for I will have none tonight."

Then he left, and I curled up in the bed and dreamed of what those lips would have felt like pressed to mine as we danced.

 _Lelâlharn_ means "lodestone" in my partially made up Elvish.


	11. Let Me (Let Me Part Two) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smutty sequel to Dorwinion Dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: A follow-up to "Dorwinion Dancing". For the purposes of everyone's fun, I am totally disregarding what Tolkien wrote concerning Elves and sex. Let's all pretend they're a little more mortal in that sense. On another note, I am a rather inexperienced smut writer, so I'm sorry if this isn't very good! I'm kinda crazy detail-oriented, and sometimes I spend more time thinking about where people's hands could logically be than the actual sexy times.

It was no surprise I woke up with a hangover as bad as the one I'd had the morning after graduation.

Hadn't I said then I'd never drink like that again?

I buried my face in the pillow, because Elves did not use curtains and if it were possible the sun had found just the right angle to hit me straight in the eyes. I lied as prone as possible and just tried to breathe around the monumentally painful headache I had. The thought of moving to find a glass of water made my stomach twist threateningly.

Usually hangovers meant every little noise came across like a hammer to the skull, so it was a good thing I was hosted by Elves. They didn't float across the floor, but they could do a pretty good impression of it.

Someone dared to pull my huddle of blankets back, and I managed to get out "shoo, shoo" before unnaturally strong arms were turning me over.

I squinted up at Erynion angrily. Did he look groggy and pale with throbbing temples? Did the taste in his mouth… vaguely still resemble wine? (Dorwinion wine: somehow still delicious even when hungover because of said wine.) No, of course not. Good thing my expression already looked irritated, because that was being directed straight at him now.

"It's too bright," I whispered. Good thing Elves had sharp hearing, because Erynion shifted closer to my face and used his body to block out the sun from the open window. It helped marginally, but frankly his hair was glowing white gold now, and that was still quite bright.

I squeezed my eyes shut and didn't realize what he was doing until a hot cloth was placed on my forehead. It helped ease the pain marginally, but I rather hoped Erynion would leave me to die slowly in peace. However it was never that simple with him.

"Sit up so you can drink."

"You sit up," I muttered back, but of course the insult didn't make sense to him and he wasn't listening anyway.

I grumbled as I slowly eased up, each movement stabbing sharply into my headache. I could open my eyes more now though, enough to see Erynion holding a glass of water. I accepted it with both hands and carefully sipped, aware that while my stomach wasn't acting up now, there was a very good chance it would as soon as it realized which way was up.

"How come you're fine?" I groused, feeling miserable and doubly so now because Erynion was seeing me like this. God I hoped last night was worth this.

"Elves have high tolerance."

"You were drunk too," I accused. My memory wasn't very strong, but he'd certainly been a lot more relaxed than usual and… well he hadn't danced, but I most definitely had. At least it hadn't been on a table.

"Elves do not suffer as humans do for it."

"That's totally unfair." His lips were definitely twitching up in a smile. I remembered them briefly stained red by wine before… had I licked them clean, or had that been a dream?

Unfortunately I was no longer drunk, so I wasn't going to ask, but now I was racking my brain to remember anything. Had there been a kiss? The end of the night was blurry, but Erynion definitely brought me back to my room. Had I said something? Had _he_ said something?

I was still working out the questions when Erynion stood back up to open the door. I hadn't heard anyone knock or call, so I guess his stupidly magnified hearing caught it. The moment my eyes saw the tray of food though was when my stomach decided to go from "threateningly sick" to "definitely going to be sick".

I didn't even get the compress off my forehead before Erynion was there with a bucket. How he'd known based on my half-started pitch and gotten to my side so fast I'd never know.

"No, no," I yelped, kicking off the blankets and taking the bucket with me. There was no way Erynion was going to see me puke. Thank goodness the bathroom was only all the way across the room. Who designed this place? Oh right, Elves could sprint that far in less time then it took me to get off the bed.

"Where are you going?"

My stomach lurched in answer, and I darted into the private bathing room and kicked the door shut. I pulled my hair back with my hand because I didn't have a tie and quickly lost the contents of my stomach.

I waited as all the heaving finished and then made sure to wash my face about fifteen dozen times and rinse my mouth another dozen. Toothpaste had not been invented because it's not like Elves got cavities and humans apparently didn't care, but they did have a kind of mouthwash type thing that worked for this occasion.

When I was done I felt a lot better even if the headache was still omnipresent, and I sunk to the floor feeling my knees wobble a little. Once I was eye level with the bucket though, I realized I couldn't just flush away the bile. Where did I put it? I really didn't want Erynion to be here for any of this, but as I looked around the washroom I realized there was nowhere to get rid of it.

I thought about really searching, but I guess Erynion heard I had finished or knew my dilemma, and opened the bathroom door. He found me slumped by the bathtub across from the bucket, and to his credit he didn't wrinkle his nose or even glance at the grossness I'd left behind. He helped pull me up and propel me out of the bathroom without a word, and when we got back to the bed he had another glass of water.

"Slowly."

"I'm sorry," I murmured into the cup, sipping as carefully as possible, but Erynion only shook his head, refusing the apology.

He stayed with me as I nibbled at the simple food, my stomach still feeling delicate, and I didn't want to risk another trip to the bucket. I didn't ask what happened to it, but the next time I went into the washroom it had magically vanished. I'd slept in late, but even still he kept me there in bed for the rest of the morning.

"Is Gimli as miserable?" I asked, holding the hot cup of tea he'd given me now. He'd insisted I couldn't drink the stuff on an empty stomach, so I'd had to eat the bland food first before he'd let me have it. There were supposed to be herbs or something to help with my headache. The headache was receding, but turning my head or gods forbid nodding could still be a torturous affair. "Aren't you busy?"

"The Dwarf is no better than you." He didn't answer my other question, just watched me from his seat on the foot of the bed. I didn't know why he was playing nursemaid to me, but I didn't want to think too hard about it for fear he was just being nice. I didn't know how many impulses I'd acted on last night, but if I'd acted on _any_ there was a good chance I should be mortified right now.

In fact, as the very thought crossed my mind I remembered him breathing the word "inappropriate" across my ear, and how languid and desirous I'd felt as I'd swayed to that song in the starlight. My face must have started to turn red, because he stood up and took the cloth from my forehead and went to wash it.

"I think I'll go see some of the _talan_ like Legolas mentioned," I said, only remembering a moment later I didn't actually need to raise my voice to be heard in the washroom by an Elf.

"You should rest," Erynion replied, reappearing minus the soaking cloth. Now that I'd reawakened last night's thoughts I couldn't _not_ see him that way. He wore a silvery dark grey tunic that hung to the knee, but cut along the legs to allow total freedom of movement, and it seemed to pull snug right at the hips and biceps unwittingly drawing the eye. The leggings to match were dark green, also slim-fitting as though I really needed to know how fit he was, and he wore soft boots instead of his usual slippers.

"I'm fine." I swallowed a bit dry.

"You've barely eaten." If Erynion ever inflected his voice much, he'd have probably sounded accusatory.

"I'm hungover, not sick." That was the English name though, because I didn't actually know how to say it in Westron. "And you haven't eaten either." I knew perfectly well Elves didn't have to eat as much as humans, but it was the principle of the thing. Somehow I knew his expression conveyed exactly that. "Fine. What about lunch in the garden? I'm starting to get hungry since I've only had watery eggs and toast."

He was still looking skeptical, but I also saw the barest of twitches across his face. Dancing in the garden had _not_ been a dream then. Had we kissed there, or had that been my imagination? If we had kissed, I was going to be angry Erynion hadn't told me or at least implied it. (And worried, but I refused to be anxious about something I'd likely dreamed up.)

"Or maybe a bath," I said instead, thinking on kissing had only reminded me that I should probably clean up properly. "Isn't there a hot spring in the garden?"

I'd never seen Erynion falter, but for a half-second there I think he did. Or maybe I just blinked at the right moment. "There is no spring in the garden," he said smoothly, picking up the empty tray and taking it back to the door where it was whisked away.

"Oh." I didn't see Erynion pause, but I heard the washroom door open and then the sound of water running. "You don't have to…"

"Let me, _Lelâlharn,_ " Erynion murmured as he stepped back out, blue eyes intense even across the room. "Find me in the garden when you are done."

It seemed somehow abrupt, but I didn't know why. That was how Erynion always was, except… I frowned at the door he'd exited through, and decided I wasn't going to leave the bath until I knew what the hell was going on. And also what "Lelâlharn" meant.

* * *

Legolas did such a poor job of explaining the word _lelâlharn_ that his father had actually produced an example of the stone, much to my utter terror. The king hadn't announced himself when he entered the room—I guess it's his kingdom, he doesn't have to—and handed his son the stone, shooting me some look that made my knees tremble, before striding out the room as ghostly as he'd come in. The heavy train of his robe snaked behind him like a tail. I thought if I'd had to look into those piercing eyes a moment longer I'd have fainted.

The stone was magnetic, as demonstrated by the attraction of an iron pin. Legolas said the Dwarves associated it with some superstition, but most other races considered it an unexplainable novelty. Maybe after I figured things out with Erynion I'd invent the compass.

That question settled I went to the gardens only to get thoroughly and completely lost. Most gardens in Gondor didn't have tall hedges so I could see where I was going, and Rivendell's gardens had been broken up by gazebos and libraries, so there'd been a plethora of people to ask directions from. However, Mirkwood's gardens were a wilder strain altogether. Trees and bushes that were a head taller than me at least continuously blocked my view, and there wasn't a single straight line. I tried to use the main cavern hall as a guiding point, but the garden must have been on a slope because soon enough I couldn't even see that.

If this was a metaphor for my life, then I was the worst lodestone in the world.

"Erynion?" I called as loudly as I dared. I'd heard voices behind tress and hedgerows sometimes, but never could find anybody. How did Elves navigate this maze? "Hello?"

I eventually sat down in a clover patch and decided if Erynion wanted to find me he could do the tracking this time. If I were a lodestone, then everyone else ought to be drawn to me.

As it turned out, even drunk Erynion had a knack for being right. No sooner had I picked ten clovers looking for one with four leaves that Erynion appeared at the mouth of the alcove.

"You were lost."

"Did you actually expect me to find you?"

He didn't respond, but he did open the sack in his hand and pull out two loaves of bread and some pears. There was also a jar of jam and a wedge of cheese on the bottom, and not a single bottle of wine in sight, good riddance.

"But you found me," I felt compelled to say. Normally I let his silences go, but this one seemed to beg one more comment. "That Elvish word means 'lodestone' in English," I added. A funny nickname to bestow, but then again the only nickname I had for him was "that aloof Elf".

He laid out the cheese and jam and pulled out a blunt knife to spread them with, and then handed me one of the soft loaves. I brushed the plucked clovers off my lap, and Erynion looked at them curiously as they fell.

"I was looking for one with four leaves," I explained, ripping the loaf into a more manageable piece.

He didn't touch his though. Instead, he glanced around the clover patch and then leaned over to the left and picked one out of the bunch and offered it to me. Four leaves, the little mutant.

"You're kidding, you can just see that?" All I saw was a blur of green; I could have probably spent a few hours searching for what he picked up at a glance. "It's yours, you found it. My people think they are lucky."

Erynion looked down thoughtfully at the four-leaf clover in one hand, his bread loaf in the other, and I frantically sorted through the possibilities of what I was thinking of doing. And then well… if even half of what I thought happened last night then at least I'd have a definitive answer now.

"Let me," I said, and put my bread in his lap so I could sit up on my knees to slip the clover into one of the twists of his braids that held his hair out of his eyes. My hands were dangerously close to the tip of his ear, and the temptation to touch was incredibly strong. "There."

It probably wouldn't stick, but it didn't really matter. I only leaned back the barest bit to see Erynion's expression, which was of course impossible to read.

"Do you remember I spoke of the lay of Beren and Tinúviel?" he asked, and I moved to lean back unsure where he was going with this, but Erynion's hand slid some of my hair behind my ear and I froze.

"Not really."

"You said it was a story akin to your lay of Romeo and Juliet."

"A tragedy," I said soberly. I was remembering this now.

"Yes, to many Elves the loss of Tinúviel was terrible. But for Tinúviel it was not." Erynion put the rolls of bread and cheese back in the sack, patiently, as though he had all the time in the world to throw us over the tipping point. "She risked and lost her life for her love of Beren, and Mandos gifted them a second mortal life for their sacrifice."

"That's not so bad then."

"No, _Lelâlharn_ , it is not."

He touched the hair above my ear again, almost like he were hesitating, and then sunk his fingers fully in, pulling me down for a kiss. I kissed him back enthusiastically, but I wasn't balanced very well for this—though I'd forgotten I had hands altogether as Erynion's other hand cupped my cheek. He tasted slightly minty, slightly sweet, and when he brushed my lips with his tongue I eagerly opened for him. I slipped one hand into his silky hair as the kiss started to heat up, only to encounter a braid where I did not expect one.

"Did I make this?" I asked pulling back enough to see the silver tie I'd knotted around the end. Erynion was smiling, lips pinked in a way that made me forget about the braid.

"You did, as I sang to you of springs and you declared your music to be bawdier than mine."

"Well it is," I said pragmatically and tugged on the little braid. That seemed to be the last thing I could do before I unbalanced, and I toppled forward into Erynion. He had fast reflexes though, so instead of braining him we fell straight into another lip-lock. This was a much better angle.

We kissed until we were breathless, until I knew his mouth as well as my own, and when I finally sat up I stared at Erynion sprawled on his back in the field of clover. His sunshine hair beautiful contrasted the green carpet, and he looked like a wild thing of nature with his hair spread around him and lips swollen. "Uh oh, you've lost your four-leaf clover," I said playfully.

His hand still cupped my face; thumb brushing my cheek like we dare not be fully parted. I leaned back down so I might kiss him once more, but thinking of that clover reminded me of a much better target.

I kissed up his sharp cheekbone, listening as his breath hitched the slightest as my intent was made obvious. That pointed ear was sensitive, and I licked just the tip before wrapping my mouth around it to suckle. His hand that had slid from my cheek to the back of my head spasmed in surprise at the sensation, and then again when I licked a line up the shell, memorizing the unique shape.

Then I was tumbling onto my back, Erynion's hair a curtain around me as he pressed a fierce kiss to my lips before tracing a slow-burning line of heat down my throat with his mouth. I thought I might not get enough air as fire rushed through me, hotter than I'd ever remembered feeling.

He must have had three hands because the lacings of my dress came undone quickly, and then Erynion's hair was trailing lower and lower, and the whole world melted away from the two of us. His mouth was hot between my breasts, and he slowed down finally so that I could see just how bright his eyes were in this afternoon sun.

"I was wrong," I said breathily, fingers deliberately brushing his leaf-shaped ear as I touched the four-leaf clover still hanging on barely. "It's still here."

He shivered at the touch, and his mouth picked up at the corners into a smile. Then we were twining tongues again, his hands drawing my dress achingly slowly down my shoulders. He laved kisses along the newly bared skin while I did a poor job of simultaneously keeping up with his centuries of practice and undoing buttons.

"This shirt," I complained between gasps, "is awful." I was having way too much trouble getting the thing off. I finally pushed him away to do it properly. "Let me," I ordered as we both sat up, my dress almost baring me as it slid off my shoulders. I hardly noticed though, fixated as I was on getting the damn complicated shirt off. Erynion brushed leaves out of my hair and breathed little huffs of laughter on to my ears, neck and shoulders as I fumbled and he kissed me to distraction.

When it was off though, I insisted on pushing him on to his back so I could better explore. He was lean and hard, muscles cording his biceps and shoulders from a thousand draws of the bow. His skin was golden-hued and surprisingly marred by three short scars: one across the left pec, and two jagged ones by the ribs. I pressed a wet kiss to his abs, taking note of the visible bulge below, and softly traced my fingers along the lines of his body. I drifted over but didn't stop at the scars, just admiring as he lied in the clover debauched.

"I dreamed of this last night," I admitted softly, running lips, tongue and teeth along the bared expanse of his chest. It was hard to draw responses from him, but each one was a reward itself. I was happy to learn what would make his breath come just a little shorter. "I wasn't sure if it was real or not," I continued, this time not stopping my dress from dragging down to my waist. A groan slipped between his parted lips as we touched chest to chest without any barrier.

Erynion's hands slid around my naked waist, sending a shudder through me that surely he could feel, and then he flipped us once more so that his hard body was pressed down to mine. I could feel his arousal against me, insistent, except that he was patient and a tease.

"I too was tormented," he murmured, mouthing at one breast while his hair tickled the other, the dual sensation incredibly distracting, "by waking dreams of you."

I arched a bit as he nipped at the peak, a moan wrenched out of me. Erynion rose up to press a hot kiss to my mouth, and I couldn't help grinding a little against his leg even though there was too much material between us. We kissed until I had fistfuls of his hair and a leg curled around his knee, and we only parted long enough for him to bite my throat, his hands starting to slide the rest of my dress down.

The flame of our arousal only got hotter as we slowly pealed the layers of clothing away, my hands running over every dip and curve of his body. Erynion did indeed glow all over, and with the sun behind his hair it threw him into almost ethereal color. He had two more scars, one on his hip that I mouthed as I spied the other on his thigh.

Soon fingers and mouths weren't enough, and he laid me down on my dress in the soft clover as we finally joined together. Our hips touched when he was fully seated, and both of us paused for just a moment, staring into each other's eyes a thousand thoughts passing between us. Then he dipped that beautiful head and marked my throat with kisses and nips, as he started a maddeningly slow pace.

"Erynion," I growled a little without meaning to, and he laughed as he suckled on my rounded ear but refused to speed up. I tried to encourage him with my hips, but he had one hand on my thigh, and as he thumb crept closer to my center I found my movements stuttering with anticipation.

But he didn't touch, despite my pleading body. He had years to perfect the art of love, and seemed to know exactly how far he could drive me to the edge without taking me over. His hands stroked and fingers scratched, his mouth licked and nipped, and his hips ground in circles sometimes then long strokes others, no doubt to see how long he could draw this out. In desperate retaliation, when no amount of name-calling or groping fingers worked, I slid my hands around that perfect face and stroked my thumbs over those sensitive ears.

I felt the groan that disappeared into my shoulder, the whisper of my name, and finally he slid a hand around to encourage me to wrap my legs around his waist. Now he really drove in harder so that my nails were digging into his shoulders and I couldn't seem to make any noise but gasps and moans.

We clasped hands until I thought they'd bruise, and he murmured endearments in both Westron and Elvish into my skin as the pace increased, taking both of us higher and higher. I babbled in English, repeating his name like a prayer until finally the wave crested and broke.

"Erynion!" I wailed, shudders of raw pleasure running through me as he too peaked moments later, my name rasped into my ear, a hundred times more intimate than a scream.

We stuttered and slowed to a stop, and when I could feel my extremities once more and gather my thoughts, I found our hands were still clasped together. Erynion had more willpower than I, who had fallen completely limp, and he carefully pried them apart. Before I could protest he rolled to his side and tucked me under his chin, and I wrapped my arm around him and thought I'd never laid on a softer bed in my life.

* * *

It was sunset when I woke next, still wrapped up in Erynion, though now he'd curled around me like a living blanket.

I'd never felt so sated in my life, both in mind and body, and I turned into his chest so that no bit of untouched skin was wasted.

"Maddie," he murmured against my ear, and I mumbled something even I couldn't identify. "Maddie, wake."

"No," I protested, but it was obviously way too late for me. I was waking up already, and realizing that even though I had naked Erynion with me, I also had the dirt-covered ground to consider.

I peeked up at Erynion, who was watching me with a distinctly amused expression. "You will never waken easily."

"I like sleep," I argued. Of course, Erynion seemed to realize at that exact moment I liked him even more than I liked sleep, because he pressed a wet kiss to my shoulder, tongue darting out for just a moment, before he continued the trail up my neck. "That's…"

"Wake up…" he breathed and kissed the corner of my mouth before sitting up fully, leaving me utterly bereft of his warmth. With the sun's heat and wool outfits—while thoroughly distracted by hot-blooded activities—I'd forgotten it was winter. Now of course my nipples were pebbling for very un-fun reasons.

Erynion dressed himself quickly, only doing a handful of buttons up his shirt, and helped me into my dress, brushing off the dirt and leaves that had ended up in my hair. He was similarly decorated, and there was no hiding what we'd been up to. It didn't seem to bother him as he slipped on his boots and I tightened the laces of my dress.

With night fallen now I was quite cold, but Erynion chaffed my arms and laughed at my pout. "Come," he said, once he'd gathered up the uneaten food that had been claimed by ants after our impromptu nap. He knew his way out of the garden, and he led me out by the hand. We walked all the way back to my room without seeing a single guard. I was infinitely glad to have this walk of shame done with and a bath in the immediate future.

Would it be bold of me to invite him for it?

"Erynion…" I tried softly, once the door was soundly shut behind us, but he strode ahead straight to the washroom. Where did we stand? I'd slept with my guardian and friend and hadn't even told him what it meant to me. Were Elves as casual as Men could be? Had that nickname been interpreted too closely?

I clutched my loose dress to me, insecurities hounding my every thought. " _Lelâlharn_ ," he called faintly, and I trailed into the doorway of the washroom, all dreamy thoughts after waking gone. He looked up at me, that damn perfect Elf, with his golden hair and blue eyes that saw straight through me, his calmness and wisdom that I craved, and I knew a question was already on his lips.

"I love you." It just came out, unplanned. Me in a dress that was grass-stained and falling off one shoulder, hair a tangled mess. And he in a tunic that hung too loose, a bite from my teeth on his shoulder not quite hidden.

" _Le melin_ ," he said, and then he was cupping my face in both hands, staring down at me with the most open, earnest expression I'd ever seen on his face. "I too love you."

We came together automatically, the kiss one of love and cherishment, without lust, only adoration of the heart. I kissed him full of my relief and joy, and he kissed me like he who knew that one day it would all be gone. We kissed until we couldn't breathe, and then we gasped together until we were apart.

"I…" I wanted to say more but what I didn't know, and I didn't get the chance because Erynion whirled around to keep the bath from overflowing. I laughed, nearly forgetting to hold up my dress.

He stopped the flow from the spring and dipped one hand in to test the temperature. Satisfied, he looked at me, waiting patiently.

He would leave if I asked, respect the boundaries I established and let me have space if I needed, but at this moment I didn't need it. I needed affirmation; I wanted to explore this new relationship.

"Are you getting in?" I asked him, and dropped the dress to the floor. Erynion's lips quirked up just a bit, and he undressed quickly, stepping out of the leggings and tossing the tunic to the floor. I didn't get much of a chance to stare though as he slid into the tub with plenty of room left for me. Nonetheless he lied back against one side and beckoned to me, half-lidded gaze admiring as I stood there.

"Maddie…" he invited, and it was my name, not a nickname or a hundred other titles, that drew me into that bath with him. Because with him I was only Maddie and he was only Erynion, and not race or homeland or language mattered.


	12. Fresh Start (Let Me Part Three) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An immediate follow-up to Let Me. Erynion/Maddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Following up on a request for an immediate post-Let Me story with some smut. Again, I've written precious little smut so I hope this isn't crazy detailed or boring.

We didn't speak any more as I sunk into the bath and Erynion drew me back against him. I could feel his nudging interest, but he ignored it in favor of lathering up a soap bar. He sponged me down gently, lovingly, admiring me like I was one of those beautiful elleths and not a plain girl. It did wonders to sooth my soul at how he didn't act any differently over stretch marks and freckles, moles and imperfections Elves didn't have.

"May I?" I asked, finally turning when the languid heat curling inside me started to become demanding. Erynion relinquished the cloth, and I soaped it up while trying to hide my eagerness to explore him too.

I started with his shoulders, rounded and hard from the muscle, and down his pecs. I graced the scars along his chest, admiring his own few imperfections. I worked my way down his arms, soaping up those elegant fingers and lathering bubbles on his abs. Rather than make him turn around as he had me to wash his back, I hesitated for a moment before leaning in to kiss him. If this were what I thought it was, then it was my right.

Erynion accepted me immediately, pulling me forward on to his lap to further plunder my mouth. Now I could feel what this slow foreplay was doing to him properly. We broke apart reluctantly, and I raised the cloth to show I wasn't done. I ran my lips along his shoulder and throat as I ran the cloth up and down his back while his thumbs rubbed circles into mine.

When I was finished Erynion took the washcloth and brushed his lips just barely against the back of my hand. It was a courtly gesture but matched by a lascivious look. Then he indicated for me to dunk my head back, and as I did his eyes had a peculiar gleam. At first I thought it was from the arch of my back making my breasts peak, but Erynion was watching my face avidly.

"I should like to wash your hair," he said, and there was a weight to that request that I would have thought perfectly innocuous before I'd left Gondor with him. But Erynion had taught me a lot about the subtlety of Elves.

"Please," I said slowly, turning so he could lather it up. "Erynion…" I hesitated to ask, but then I'd never know. "Is this important?"

"It's a common ritual between lovers," he answered easily. He turned me gently, sunk his fingers into my hair and started to knead gently.

"Have you had many?" I asked before I could stop my mouth. We'd only just begun this new side of our relationship so I couldn't have worse timing. "I mean—"

"Some, but none that I would follow as I have you."

He said it so casually that it belied the meaning of his words; the hair wash took on a new level of intimacy. "Then is this…" I trailed off, hoping he would fill in the silence, but he said nothing. He guided my head back to rinse, and I took the moment of respite to close my eyes and figure out how to phrase this. "Are we… together?"

"We have been together for some time." Whatever he put in my hair smelled fantastic, and after a second dunk he scooped the hair aside and pressed a kiss to the top of my spine. It sent a shudder up it that made him smile.

"I mean… are we lovers… but also…?" I couldn't quite think of the right word. Boyfriend sounded ridiculous in regards to Erynion, and partner was too distant a term. But he wasn't my husband, and I could only think of 'significant other' or 'beau' to describe a relationship. None of those fit even remotely.

"I do not care what you call us in your tongue," Erynion murmured, turning me around slowly. He was being terribly uncooperative, or perhaps he didn't understand my need for clarity. Maybe for Elves this nebulous relationship was okay, but I didn't know if declarations of love for them meant fidelity, something casual, or something much deeper. I was going to have to put aside my embarrassment and fear that Erynion might tell me his love and my love were not quite the same.

"Erynion… I mean there is no sharing? No one else? This is… serious?" I sounded too questioning as I pulled back to read his expression, but thankfully he looked curious rather than hurt.

"Perhaps among your people it is not the same, but among mine love is not pandered lightly."

I couldn't help my relieved expression. "Me too, I just wasn't sure," I admitted.

His long fingers cupped my face. " _Gwestog?"_ he asked, "Is that a promise?"

"To be with you?"

His lips quirked up a bit. "Is this how you call two lovebirds doting upon each other?"

"What?" But then I realized I had translated the English slang phrase rather than using a Westron equivalent. The Westron phrasing was actually much stiffer, more like saying 'having romantic relations'. "That's how I would say it in English."

"It is simple—the essence. I will… _be_ with you in all ways I can."

" _Gwe…stog?_ " I parroted back, miming his Elvish. The pads of my fingers traced the shape of a heart above his. He didn't know the symbol though.

Erynion's eyes glittered as he answered me in Elvish in what I could only assume was the affirmative. We sealed it with a kiss before I could ask. I waded back as he stood utterly unselfconscious, and watched his glistening backside as he crossed to a robe on the other side. I'd never really understood men's fascination with legs, but I could appreciate it now.

" _Lelâlharn_ ," he said amusedly, and I glanced up only to realize he was holding the robe for me. I had glazed over thinking about those thighs and behind.

I rose up slowly, hands trying not to fidget and cover myself because I had no reason to be insecure here. He wrapped me in the silvery robe that amazingly soaked up the water faster than any plush towel I'd used before. Erynion himself was dry and nude and perfectly aware of what that was doing to me. His eyes were bright as he helped to hurry the drying process. In a fit of boldness I kissed the tip of his nose, and then stole another from his mouth. _We were one. We were together._ There was power in those words.

When all the water had been leeched off me, Erynion started to finger-comb my hair, and I realized I hadn't washed his.

"What about your hair?" I asked dismayed. We'd only completed half the ritual.

"Next time," he answered, not looking bothered at all. His hair had only gotten a little wet, but I shyly started to undo the braids he'd made in it, and that seemed to please him.

When we finished we left the robes behind and went to the sumptuous bed. The first few escapades with Cliff had been terribly awkward, but there was a kind of implicit communication between Erynion and I. Maybe that just meant we were more compatible, or maybe it was because we'd had more than a year's worth of travel and bonding behind us. Either way, it was almost like a dance how he lifted me by the waist and tossed me lightly on to the bed before sidling in beside me. I giggled in answer to Erynion's nearly roguish smile, because I'd certainly never seen that expression on him before.

We kissed until we were breathless, and I felt my nerve ends zing with each brush of his fingers against my nipple. Erynion had a light touch that nearly tickled but still aroused, making goosebumps break out on my skin as he laved kisses on the underside of my breast. Zones I had never thought erogenous lit up at his touch, and I found myself moaning and trying not to scratch him in my enthusiasm. He seemed to have endless patience while I felt like the build-up would never end.

He didn't press his mouth to where I wanted it most, but trailed fingers and tongue down my leg and up my inner thigh coming perilously close. His fingers danced along my folds, teasingly bare touches that made my hips jerk upwards more than once. I could still feel the burn of his kiss against my mound, a promise to a future day.

He rolled to the side and pressed a hot kiss to the tip of my breast before laying on his back in invitation. Tonight was about learning one another, and it took me a moment to catch my breath and take the offering.

I started with my teeth to his shoulder, nibbling a bite that made his fingers flex curiously. I wasn't sure if hickeys were a thing with Elves, but I like laying a little claim. Then I worked my way down curiously over his baby-soft skin until I found the puckering of the thin scar on the left side of his chest. I couldn't help tasting the different texture.

"An archer's unlucky shot," he explained, his voice rougher than I'd heard before. I felt myself grow a little wet hearing it, especially since his hand was curled around my thigh and massaging the muscle languidly.

I shifted down and straddled one of his legs, his hand rising to my hips, and I traced a finger across the two jagged lines by the bottom of his ribs. He wasn't ticklish, but I watched his throat swallow when I looked up at him through my lashes.

"A fell beast in the battles against Angmar. Some of my brethren and I fought with the Dúnedain."

I didn't know what Angmar or Dúnedain meant, but I could only imagine what sort of creature could do this to an Elf. I kissed each one in deference then moved down again to the perfect 'v' of his hips, like an artists' rendering of a perfect man. I pillowed my head on his thigh and just looked up at his titled chin, his eyes watching me with naked interest. My fingers strayed close to his groin but didn't touch.

"Poisoned arrow from an orc," Erynion said, when my fingers danced away and traced the knotty scar on his hip. I wanted to comment on the battles he'd seen, on how the scars both reminded me of his strength and of his weakness, but as though he seemed to sense my mood he lifted one knee forcing me to sit up.

"I think there are few battles ahead left, and none for the Elves," he murmured, curling up to kiss me hotly. It was an obvious distraction but just the one I needed. I forgot about my exploration and how much I wanted to grip the taut muscles of his legs and lost myself in the furor of our mouths, the pressure of his thigh against my core, how good it felt to be here in this moment with him.

We only broke for breath as Erynion guided me back down until I lay on my back looked up at him, his blond hair in disarray from my fingers. I could feel his hardness against me now, and I deliberately nudged him with my hip. No matter how Elven Erynion was, he couldn't quite hide the reaction that caused him as the hitch in his breath and the sudden pressure as he ground down told me.

"Impatient," he scolded, but I laughed into his mouth until it twisted into a moan. He'd snuck two fingers inside me while I'd been distracted, and my hips jerked insensately for several moments as he stretched and thrust them. It wasn't enough and I craved more.

"Erynion," I whined, reaching down to wrap my hand around him too—fair play and all that. Even an Elf didn't differ so much from a Man in this department, and for all his vaunted patience it was hard to compete with a wet woman and a tight fist. We couldn't wait much longer.

When he entered me it was swift, reaching all the right places at just the right angle—perhaps a bit of that Elven charm. I gasped as he drew back and thrust home making me keen. We rose together to the heights; his hands holding me steady as we gasped and kissed and nipped at each other's throats, our hips meeting in wave after wave until neither of us could hold on any longer.

When I was aware of myself again, I laid spent beneath Erynion, holding his head to my neck breathing in that clean soap smell of him and the hint of pine beneath. Our hearts hammered as one as we slowly came down from ecstasy. I felt safe and cherished in his arms.

Eventually Erynion reluctantly rolled to the side, and I followed him smoothly, pillowing my head beneath his arm. We were sweaty and sated, and I felt sure in us. We'd reaffirmed what this was—no mere fling, but a true relationship built on trust and friendship over the years. I couldn't doubt Erynion felt the same.

" _Le melin,_ " he whispered again against the top of my head.

"What does it mean?" I asked softly not quite tired but peacefully lingering in that post-coital glow.

"I love you."

"In English we say _I love you_ ," I told him, only to hear the words in my native tongue repeated at me. He had a slight accent, but I felt the lurch in my belly at the words all the same. Somehow it wasn't quite real until he said it in plain English.

I don't think I had talked with Erynion as much as I did that night. What had started as an exhausting evening stretched well into the darkest part of the next day as we lied there in bed talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes I would sit up to make a point, or Erynion's hands would stray and make me ticklish, but throughout we never stopped touching and I forgot all modesty in our nudity.

Erynion told me about courtship among Elves, the art of subtle compliments and looks, and the unspoken language of flowers. I told him about dinner dates and blind dates, about empty hook-ups and friends of friends. I showed him the symbol for heart, and he traced my name and his in Elvish on my skin.

We shared language and stories and kisses, and made love again when the moon dipped low enough to peer into our room. I thought if only half as many nights were spent like this with Erynion I should be happy, because truly I'd never felt so at peace.

"When did you know?" I asked without prompting, not clarifying my question in the least. Half the answer was in what conclusion Erynion drew. It had to be three a.m. by now, but even drowsing I didn't want to sleep just yet and let this end.

"The Shire."

"Oh?"

"You were so excited by the hobbits and their ways. Every bit of food and song, every flower you passed dazzled you. It was when I realized."

Any boy I'd met growing up would have been embarrassed to speak so frankly, but not Erynion. Love was a thing of beauty, honesty, and passion among the Elves, never a weakness.

I was left momentarily speechless as I tried to recapture that feeling I had arriving in the Shire. There wasn't any place in the world more English and more beatific than it. If I couldn't settle with Erynion, I would have been happy there.

"I don't know when I fell in love with you. It crept up on me," I admitted, examining Erynion's strong jaw and the crest of his cheekbones. "I suppose it's been building in me for a long time. Always in the back of my mind."

He turned his head to look at me with those brilliant blue eyes, and I was asking before I knew it: "Kiss me."

He did, at first chaste but then with tangled tongue, stealing my breath as he thoroughly ravaged my mouth. Elves had never seemed sexual creatures to me, but perhaps it was only obvious when awakened. The lidded look Erynion sent me spoke of a thousand desires.

"Rest," he finally said as the dark fell to its deepest hour. Erynion held me and we fell into dreams together.

* * *

I'd spent many a night with clingy Cliff, so it was a pleasant surprise not to be woken sweaty with one arm asleep and my hair caught under someone's head. It was with sleepy wonder that I woke to see Erynion's golden hair spread out on my pillow, his face slack and peaceful. He had such a lovely definition to his nose and cheeks that I traced them silently with my eyes for some time, admiring the morning sun on him.

That is, until I remembered Elves didn't sleep with their eyes closed.

I drew my leg over his after second-guessing kissing him. I probably had morning breath that I desperately didn't want him to know about. The moment I shifted his eyes opened just enough to see a slit of blue, and then he opened them fully.

"You slept deeply," he murmured.

"We were up late," I whispered back, still not fully awake. It was warm beneath the blankets, but I scooted closer to cuddle up anyway. Erynion obliged me easily, tucking me under his chin. With the blankets cocooned around us, and Erynion holding me, it was like the rest of the world didn't exist.

"I will call for lunch," he murmured eventually, but I shook my head and locked my arm around his waist. I wasn't hungry for food but skin-hungry for him.

"Don't go," I said, muffled by his chest. I realized belatedly my choice in words might have been poor, but bless Erynion for knowing me well enough to realize anything out of my mouth after just waking wasn't to be taken at face value.

"We do not have to leave this bed for a week if you so choose. Though if you wish to see Erebor then the dwarf's accompaniment would be preferred." I knew Erynion didn't care to see the Dwarf kingdom, but I did. I'd read _The Hobbit_ after all, and met Bilbo and several of the original company.

"Can Gimli leave in a week, so we can stay here until then?" I reluctantly let go of my tight grip on Erynion, but he didn't immediately move away. I traced the v of his hip just ecause.

"I heard he plans to leave with the Prince come the new moon."

I frowned, not being on top of the moon cycles though Erynion obviously would be. "And that is…?"

"Four days."

I sighed, but really I couldn't complain. I had Erynion all to myself for those four days regardless, and hopefully a lot longer after that. He would probably be amused if I tried to explain the concept of a honeymoon. "Okay."

Erynion slid out of bed and I pouted and stole his pillow, but it made a poor excuse for him. Unfortunately by now I'd woken enough to realize that nature was calling, and if he was out of bed I might as well be too. So grudgingly I started my day, throwing on the thin nightgown the Elves had given me and finishing my morning ablutions.

When I stepped out of the bathroom—which had been mysteriously cleaned in the night again—Erynion had loose leggings on and a tray full of bread and cream, honey, boiled eggs, fruit and the Elvish equivalent of yogurt. He smiled as I settled against him on the bed, this time kissing him properly good morning, and as we broke into breakfast I kept sneaking glances at him. If this was how our mornings might be for the rest of my life, then I couldn't imagine a better way to spend them. And I think from the looks Erynion snuck me he was thinking the same.


	13. Connection (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie and Aragorn share a connection and she learns something valuable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Someone on Tumblr messaged me and mentioned that Aragorn and Maddie in the Erynion/Maddie drabbles now share a connection. Then I found a bottle of wine and read somewhere while researching Elves and sex that beautiful hair was erotic to Elves like firm butts are to humans. So yes, a combination of those things was written on wine. I can't help it if my best ideas coincide with open bottles.

I stumbled into a seat near the throne, scooting closer as the chair scraped on the floor until I was within speaking range. Aragorn, nursing his second beer, looked totally unphased by my ungraceful attempt to approach him. Erynion didn't know it, but Legolas had plied me with Elvish wine. It wasn't Dorwinion, but that stopped mattering after the first glass.

"We have a connection now," I blithely informed the King of Gondor. The title that normally intimidated me had lost all power under the influence of this wine. "You married an Elf, and I… I'm attached to one."

Erynion and I weren't married, per say, but apparently Elvish rites didn't really requite a formal ceremony or witness. So… according to a fair number of Elves we were practically married and the garden in Mirkwood cinched it. No one had informed me of this until months later, when Erynion's brother, Ethiron, had called me his new sister-in-law. It was a good thing Erynion was fast, because I almost slapped him on principle.

(What happened later that night is a different story.)

"How has that been for you?" Aragorn asked sounding remarkably sober. I leaned on the back of the chair, which I couldn't straddle because of the formal dress but I gave it a try, and looked him dead in the eye.

"Hot."

Aragorn's expression didn't change, but I was also 95% sure he did not get that. 'Hot', as a term to describe a person's physical appearance and/or sexual ability, did not share the same slang meaning in Westron as in English. Erynion had figured it out, but Aragorn hadn't had the chance.

"It's been good," I amended thoughtfully. "I love Erynion, even if he is bad at teaching me Elvish."

This wasn't actually true; it was more that I had no tongue for the ethereal language. I never managed to sound graceful or beautiful speaking it, no matter how many times Erynion repeated himself. I'd learned the important bits though: 'hello', 'how are you', 'I'm fine', 'I love you', 'Thunor stop that'.

"And how is living among the Elves?"

"Stiff," I admitted immediately. "But they are nice. Erynion's family…" I had to pause as I thought of his brother, his only family left in Middle Earth. Ethiron had been curious, but if he'd had any concerns I'd never heard or seen any of them. Though as Erynion had proven, Elves had thousands of years to practice the art of lying and hiding things. "It is different. Usually Elf and Men couples live among humans."

"Yes," replied Aragorn with a faraway look.

Worried I was losing my chance at asking him the really vital question I was working towards, I was quick to draw him back. "But Elves aren't so different really. Just old. And connected with nature." Aragorn nodded, and I took that as encouragement. "But I do have one question… and I know you were raised by Elves."

Aragorn looked down at me from his throne, where he watched over the rest of the merrymaking in the room. He was kind of scruffy, and it must have been the wine that made me remember kissing Cliff when he hadn't shaved in a few days. Elves didn't grow facial hair, and I found I didn't miss the sensation of sandpaper on my cheek in the least.

"You know how some men are all about boobs or asses?" I asked, and Aragorn looked at me blankly. Neither of those words were Westron, but I had been steadily sipping at my wine throughout this conversation so I was long past remembering what language I was speaking. "What is with Elves and hair? My hair is very boring, but any time I style it Erynion always looks at it differently. Not leering, because _Elves_." This is self-explanatory to me. Elves are above leering and horniness like human men, or at least they don't show it like any boyfriend of mine ever did. But for Erynion a hairbrush in my hand was like a promise of a striptease. Of course, it took me a year into our relationship to realize that, because Elves do subtle really well.

My thoughts had gotten totally sidetracked, but thankfully Aragorn must be thinking about Arwen's own hair fetish or something (Aragorn did have nice hair, though I had always liked blonds more) because he seemed to take a long time to come up with a total non-answer. "Elves… enjoy beautifully kept hair."

"But why?"

He just shrugged, sipping from his glass. I waited him out, since I had my own glass to finish. "They are folk who appreciate beauty and cleanliness."

I knew that already, one of the reasons I was glad I ended up with an Elf. Erynion never minded stopping for a bath or standing around while I tried to decide which soap smelled the best (all Elvish soap smells fantastic, by the way). I had a feeling Elves found hair erotic, but Aragorn confirmed it.

That wasn't a very satisfying answer though, but I suppose there wasn't really a reason for why some men got restless at the sight of bare legs and why I lavished so much attention on the v-lines of Erynion's hips. At least I was perfectly happy to keep my hair soft and pretty, and bonus if he liked it. I ran my hand through it at that thought and encountered a tangle almost immediately. Typical.

"Offer to let Erynion help you with you hair sometime," Aragorn said as soon as he put the goblet down. He started to smile as I painfully dragged my fingers through my tangled hair. I pulled them free and almost regretted letting my hair grow out so much—almost. Erynion's joy at my hair was worth the pain. "You would both appreciate it."

I gulped down the last of my wine. "I'll report back General," I joked, snapping off a sloppy salute, which in retrospect must have made no sense at all to Aragorn. Gondorian salutes were totally different.

"You needn't," I think I heard Aragorn said, but I decided I'd had enough wine to tackle Éowyn's questions concerning body hair and Elves and left him to his beer.

* * *

That night I took Aragorn's advice and flopped into the seat in front of the vanity and picked up my hairbrush. Erynion had given it to me when I finally got to see what all the fuss was about the Elven home of Lothlórien. (The fuss was justified.) It was silver and decorated with carved mallorn leaves.

"Erynion," I called. The elf looked up from where he'd been lounging on the bed, lazily taking me in. "Will you brush my hair?"

Some people talked about how amazing it felt to have someone brush their hair, but somehow I'd gone my whole life without having any strong feelings towards it. At least until this moment, when Erynion's bright eyes appeared in the vanity mirror. He seemed to both relish and cherish the experience of brushing my long hair, working out the tangles patiently, and all the while shooting suggestive looks anytime our eyes met.

My hair was a like a waterfall of silk when he was done, but I didn't get more than a moment to admire it before he tumbled me to the bed. We made love as his hair hung like a silk curtain around us and he deliberately ran his fingers through mine until he was fisting it when climax washed over us both.

"Will you teach me how to do those braids you do?" I asked into his neck later, unable to move any of my lethargic limbs. My hair was probably full of tangles again, but I was sure Erynion would be happy to brush them out once more.

"Of course," he said against my cheek, and I had a feeling those lessons would be a lot more fun than the Elvish ones.


	14. Apples (Let Me Part Four) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift ficlet for Sajirah and as a kind of smutty addendum to Let Me. Erynion/Maddie

Traveling with Erynion had evolved since my first, bumbling trip across the mountains with him. We’d been from Rivendell to Lothlorien, south to Gondor and back, and crossed through the Shire and the Gray Havens to the Lonely Mountain. We’d seen all the great cities of the north and were now headed south again to see Eowyn and Faramir. This time, of course, something was different.

“How can moss only grow on the west side?” I demanded, sitting beside Erynion in front of the fire. The wildlands were safe enough for a fire at night, he claimed. I had no idea where he got his information but trusted it nonetheless. Except regarding moss. “Moss always grows on the north side.”

“Nay, the west side,” he answered, poking the fire and shifting the kindling. His arm was around my waist, the warmth from his body nearly as strong as the fire. I was convinced Elves ran hotter than humans, even if my testing had usually been done when we were both… exerting ourselves.

“It was the north side in my homeland,” I pouted.

“And it is west in Arda,” he replied. I huffed but let him be. We talked more, now that the physical side of our relationship had changed, loosening the rules. Erynion was never outspoken, but he responded more quickly to my jests and questions and with good humor.

“I am glad to be out of the forest,” I admitted a few minutes later, after the crackling of the fire had grown dull. 

“Eryn Lasgalen has changed much, but not all of it,” Erynion said after a beat. “It is still not the safest forest at its edges.” The influence of the Elves of Mirkwood was growing since the Ring’s destruction, but the spiders and other beasts were not wholly dead yet. For the last three nights we’d had no fire because of the moths and beasts it would attract, and therefore no time to truly relax. I’d laid awake beside him hearing every leaf and tree whisper in the darkness. We’d left the forest behind around midday today, bringing a literal breath of fresh air. 

“We can visit again when it’s nicer,” I murmured, slumping deeper into Erynion’s embrace. I craved the physical affection he offered occasionally, since while we traveled he did not touch me much at all. I knew that for Elves I was especially touchy-feely, and I tried to avoid being the dreaded “clingy”, but I think Erynion understood somewhat. Or at least he was learning.

Between the lethargy of the warm night and the popping and crackling of the fire, I felt the heat of his body warm parts of me we hadn’t explored since leaving the realm of Thranduil. I rolled my head back on to Erynion’s shoulders, but his expression was fathomless as he stared into the distance. Slowly, I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then a second and a third in a row, watching the firelight play on his cheekbones.

“I do not think this is the place,” he whispered, turning to look down at me.

“There is no one around,” I reminded him. He obliged me when I moved to kiss him, seeming not to listen to his own words. Perhaps the same fever that filled me had jumped to him. 

We rolled as one until I lay back on a bed of grass, my lips swollen from his kisses. Erynion lay above me, staring down at me with that shape gaze that belied passions and thoughts I was still learning to read.

Before I could open my mouth to ask what he was thinking, he swooped down and nipped my bottom lip before kissing the heart of my throat. “Let me,” I felt more than heard him murmur there, and I’m sure I was flushed from collarbone to forehead as the pleading tone. 

From there he unlaced my dress, taking his time just as he always did. I would one day have to teach him the concept of a quickie, but for now I lay staring blindly up at the stars, my focus narrowed sharply to the press of his lips and the dance of his fingers on my skin.

There was an extra thrill when my dress slid out from under me, leaving me nude and bare to the night. I’d never thought myself an exhibitionist, but laying in the grass of a spring night in the grasslands south of Mirkwood, I felt alive in the moonlight as Erynion’s blond head bowed before me.

He kissed my belly button and then moved lower, and my eyebrows arched of their own accord. I nearly sat up as I felt the first touch of his tongue even lower.

“Erynion!” I yelped in surprise. “I didn’t think–”

“Do not think,” he said, voice deeper than normal and his breath sending a shiver through me. He explored me with the patient thoroughness only an Elf could do, making me buck, arch, and moan in turn. He licked all over, learning every bump and fold of skin until I felt almost mindless with it. I never expected him to know of this way to please someone, let alone for him to be familiar with it.

“Erynion…” I panted, his tongue licking up at my clit before teasingly moving against it in rhythm. I felt the edges of an orgasm closing in on me, but it wasn’t enough. “Please…”

He pulled away though, and when I looked down I felt a bolt of arousal hit me. His hair was disheveled from where I’d tangled and untangled my fingers in it, and he glowed slightly not just with the natural Elvish skin, but also with impish pleasure as he looked at me.

“Shall I continue?” he asked breathily, voice deeper and huskier than I’d ever heard it. A fresh wave of wetness hit me before I knew how to think. 

“Yes,” was all I said, instead of some smart reply. Erynion didn’t answer that, only ducked his head down and in one move sucked my clit into his mouth, worrying it with his tongue. The pressure and the deluge of sensation was enough to send me straight to the peak, nearly whiting out from the pleasure. It was so good that when he lapped up the last of my juices I felt zaps and tingles from the over-stimulation that made me twitch and whine, but I could hardly fight the sensations. When he was satifised that I was sated, he shifted up to lay beside me.

“You’ve experienced this pleasure before?” he asked quietly, not sounding judgmental or territorial at all. I laid there and tried to breathe.

“No.”

“You did not seem surprised.” His voice was still velvety, and I could feel the evidence of his arousal against my leg. I didn’t have the brainpower yet to address that, but I would soon.

“I’ve had… I… It wasn’t like that. Always give and take.”

Erynion frowned, and as my wits returned I realized what I’d said was true. Cliff had gone down on me before, but mostly because he thought it was only fair if I’d gone down on him. Give and take. It hadn’t been strictly out of a desire to see my thighs quivers around his head.

“An apple does not expect anything in return for its sweetness,” Erynion said, thumb brushing my cheek. 

“I’m not an apple,” I protested, turning to kiss him. When I tried to reach for where he visibly ached he brushed my hand aside. 

“Even if an apple is ripe it does not always need to be picked,” he murmured, pulling me close to him, seeming to take comfort in nothing but our entwined presence. It took me several minutes to adjust to _not_ needing to please him too, but I found it nice to luxuriate in. He… he _loved_ me. Enough to give me pleasure but not take his own. This shouldn’t have been so novel but it was.

As we lay still I felt the tickle of the grass against my bare sides, the breath of the wind setting goosebumps on my skin. None of those could take away the general glow I felt laying in Erynion’s arms there on the plains of Middle Earth, loving and being loved. 

“What kind of apple are you?” I asked Erynion, but he didn’t answer, or I fell asleep before he did.


	15. Night-Blooming Garden (Let Me Part Five) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As per a Tumblr anon's request, here is a follow-up to "Let Me" where Maddie tells Eowyn a bit about her relationship with Erynion over a bottle of wine or three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: I would like to thank my most esteemed followers on Tumblr for their amazing if dangerous ideas and love of Erynion/Maddie. This prompt was from one of them, and I just couldn't resist. A little follow-up to "Let Me" involving drunk Maddie and Éowyn. For authenticy's sake, I may have drunk a glass of wine or five.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's writings, and I also don't own "Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles.
> 
> Night-Blooming Garden
> 
> or
> 
> Drunken Excuse of an Outing

_Ithilien was a damn beautiful city_ , I thought as Erynion and I sat down in an outdoor pavilion for lunch with our hosts, Faramir, Éowyn, and surprisingly Boromir, who was on a tour of his homeland as the new Steward. Éowyn and Faramir were all smiles at our arrival, though Boromir looked tired but pleased to see me. The couple carried most of the conversation through lunch and dinner, asking about the Elves and all the beautiful places we'd been. I did all the talking as expected while Erynion only said a word or two when absolutely pressed. Still, I snuck my hand under the table to grasp his own and give it a squeeze. Even if he was a taciturn Elf, he was _my_ taciturn Elf.

Éowyn was watching the both of us with bright eyes, but I didn't see it because I'd been too focused on Erynion. Months after Mirkwood and his every move still captivated me.

Big mistake.

In fact, I missed a lot of Éowyn's knowing looks and stares because I was distracted by Erynion. It wasn't my fault he was so beautiful and doubly so in that tailored formal tunic he wore. It was nearly as hot as a tux, and I found my eyes drawn to the shape it made of him more often than not. (The things I'd do to see Erynion in a tux!)

So Éowyn rather blindsided me that first evening in Ithilien, but I suppose it was only fair in retrospect, since she'd been equally absorbed in Faramir after their marriage.

"We're not married!" I said, swallowing my mouthful of wine loudly. I hurriedly glanced around at my outburst, but we were quite alone in this private garden. Everyone else was long since asleep. However tonight Éowyn had appeared at my doorway insisting we girls see a night-blooming garden together for old-times sake. Erynion had let us go without a word, and Éowyn hadn't even quite closed the door when I saw no less than three wine bottles resting behind her.

Yeah, there was no two ways about this evening. She wanted details, and the gigglier and therefore drunker we were the better.

"But have you…" she wiggled her eyebrows impatiently.

"There might have been a garden or two," I admitted, laughing at her expression. "And it was only the two of us all the way here you know."

"She-devil!" she cried, tipping backwards on the bench until we both scrambled to right her. "You laid with a man not your husband! Though he's as good as is, I'll warrant! I've only met Erynion once before, but I'm quite sure he's besotted."

"He better be!" I retorted, laughing. "When I saw those Elven women I was terribly jealous you know. Beautiful, starlit eyes, moonlight pale skin, all that nonsense in the poems."

"You're beautiful Maddie," Éowyn admonished, her arm immediately going around me. I appreciated the comfort as I recalled the lovely Lothlórien Elleths. "Elves are stunning but all in the same way, but us women…" she trailed off, and we both started laughing and clinked our glasses together at that.

"But you really must tell me," she started after we'd both taken deep draughts. It wasn't Elvish wine, but we were a bottle in and couldn't care less. "What was it like?"

I hummed as I sipped. "Well, I think I understand now why the Elves are so enamored with the stars. I'm pretty sure I've seen them up close quite a few times now!" Erynion was a very thorough lover, needless to say.

"So did he…" Éowyn paused, and I leaned close enough to see the flyaway hairs in her braids. My hair had long since fallen loose, and now was almost long enough to touch the bench where I was sitting. Erynion had been horrorstruck when I'd proposed cutting it.

"Did he what?"

"Know all the… pleasure points?" she giggled embarrassedly into her wine, but as a modern woman it was going to take a lot more than that to faze me.

"He did! But he had damn well better if he had a thousand years to learn them—wait! Does Faramir know them?"

Éowyn turned bright red, or maybe that was the wine, but surely someone had whispered in her ear about this before her wedding night. Or well, without the internet who knows?

"Tell me _you_ know!" I said immediately, suddenly worried that she hadn't been enjoying her time with Faramir. Sex was about both people after all.

"Faramir is a wonderful lover!" she said staunchly.

"Well he'd better be a generous one! Tell me he does something special for you, and only you." I wiggled my eyebrows, or well, I tried, but I'm fairly sure I'd had too much wine to create the desired effect.

Éowyn was creasing her brows though. "What do you mean?"

I cozied into my seat and took a fortifying sip. Compared to some of my friends back home I'd never been the most experienced person when it came to sex, but Erynion was open to a lot of things, and Elves weren't selfish like a certain former boyfriend of mine. (I'd talked it out with Cliff, but the first couple of nights spent together in that relationship were disappointing.)

"A mouth is good for more than kissing!" I declared loudly, and Éowyn frantically tried to smother her laughter and shush me. "See if he isn't willing to… we say 'go down', for you!"

"Go down?" she asked, but I was also pretty sure she knew what I meant. If she was too shy I'd be happy to elucidate.

"Well if your head is up, then if you move down…" I slid a hand suggestively lower, grazing breasts and stomach, and Éowyn's eyes went wider and wider the further south I went.

"Going down to-?"

"Going down _on_ someone," I corrected patiently. This was important English slang that I was introducing into Westron. "Tongues are very useful you know. And flexible," I continued. Éowyn looked perfectly mortified as the meaning of "going down" became clear, but I was on a role. "You can teach Faramir the value of going down on you."

She looked pained to ask, but the wine helped the words escape her. "It's pleasurable when a man… 'goes down' on you?"

"Very," I answered with real confidence. Erynion had surprised me with his knowledge of that on our way to Lothlórien, and if it were possibly he'd looked smugger than Thunor ever did. I hadn't been able to breathe for a good while afterwards, but I'd worked on my gag reflex to show my gratitude.

"It helps to take things slow too you know. Draw out the pleasure and teeeeeease," I added, thinking on one dark night when Erynion had revealed he knew well how to dirty talk when he described my naked body in firelight in elegant syllables rounded out by Elvish. I swallowed another sip of wine to hide my smile. That was a revelation I was keeping entirely to myself.

"Do your people speak so blatantly of such private matters!" Éowyn hissed, but it didn't slip by me the curious glance she shot downwards at herself.

"More blatantly than you do! Did I tell you Erynion sang me an Elvish… now what was the word? Baldy? Badly? Boorly? Boring?" I fumbled for the word but couldn't come up with it and instead drank some more wine. "Well _inappropriate_ song." That word sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with any songs.

Éowyn sat up properly now. "Well tell me about it!"

"Well I think I danced? No, that may have been a different song…" Nonetheless I stood up and drained my glass, which Éowyn graciously refilled immediately while topping hers off. "It was something about an Elven dude," Éowyn politely ignored the word she didn't know, "taking an Elven girl to a hot spring."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Éowyn said with a big smile.

"That's what I said! But apparently it's quite the… _inappropriate_ song."

"And he sang it to you!"

"While drunk!" I added this very gleefully, forgetting conveniently that I too had been roaring drunk. I spun in place, which was maybe a mistake because I lost my balance and flopped back on to the ground. "I wanted to sing Erynion a song that night, but I'm not a good singer."

Éowyn waved her hand at me, too busy drinking to actually say something.

"But maybe I'll sing something now. Ever heard of the Beatles?" Of course she hadn't, but that wasn't the point. "My dad was a fan." I had to work out each line before I could sing it, but it wasn't that hard to translate really. I just changed the word "submarine" to "boat" and went from there.

_In the town where I was born_

_Lived a man who sailed to sea_

_And he told us of his life_

_In the land of boats_

Éowyn started to clap along as I haltingly sang from the ground, and when I was finished I had an adoring audience of one.

"Well now we ought to go swimming! Don't know where we'll find a band though," she announced, and I was totally on board with that plan, pun unintended.

"Surely Ithilien's got some pond or lake we can swim in!" I said, and we headed out of the garden quite forgetting why we'd wanted privacy in the first place and really only thinking about swimming and where to find another bottle of wine.

"You know…" I said later, as we floated in waterlogged dresses in the water-lily pond of the rose garden, "Erynion's really beautiful."

I'd been thinking about this every since we'd spotted the night-blooming flowers we were supposed to be viewing. It was quite convenient that now I didn't have to lie to Erynion about going to that garden, even if we'd only snuck through to avoid a guard post.

Not that he'd believe the lie anyway, since I'd probably stumble into our rooms later tonight and start groping immediately.

"You two are adorable together," Éowyn said, slurring ever so slightly. The bottle of wine we'd nicked was resting on the edge of the lake. "Do you see the way he watches you when you aren't looking?"

"Well if I'm not looking—"

"Adorable."

"Pretty sure Faramir looks at you the same way. He looked like he'd been struck by lightening when he first saw you." I giggled into my glass and plucked a blossom from the water's edge.

"He loves me, he loves me not," I murmured as I plucked the leaves, floating on my back even though my legs were dragged under by the weight of the wet petticoats. Good thing the pond was only two feet deep. "He loves me, he loves me not… he loves me!"

Triumphantly I threw the stem and leaves to the side and splashed over to Éowyn, being careful to keep my wine glass high so I didn't water-down my drink. "Erynion loves me."

"Well yes, of course," she said matter-of-factly.

I gave serious thought to going to find Erynion to deliberately moon over him properly, but thankfully Éowyn interrupted that embarrassing train of thought. (I mooned over the Elf enough as it were.)

"In your home are there any herbs or tricks to help encourage pregnancy?"

"A woman usually ovulates two weeks after their period."

"…What?"

I grabbed Éowyn's hand and laughed, sipping more wine. "About two weeks after you bleed are your best chances. So corner him in every room and every closet during that week or so."

She started laughing hard enough to swallow water, and we waded out of the pond and collapsed by the side still shaking. I'd spilled my wine all over the ground in our mirth, but there was plenty left in the bottle. The summer night was forgiving of our soaked dresses, and we flopped back once we could catch our breath to admire the stars. I'd never forget how many stars you could see even from a city. Light pollution just didn't exist without electricity.

"Will you and Erynion have children?"

"Who knows?" I replied. "But he's awfully sweet on children. One woman in a village two days from here asked if he'd bless her child. Erynion…" I paused, remembering his features soften and turned heart-meltingly beautiful as he held that infant in his arms. It was easy to replace that baby boy with an Elfin child of our own. "I hope he wants them," I murmured.

"I'm sure he does," she said, and we smiled giddily at each other. Éowyn was so going to be my child's godmother.

"Who goes there in the garden!" yelled a startled male voice, and I titled my head back almost painfully far to see someone emerge from the path over to the right.

"It is I! The Elf-lover, and she-who-lights-the-flames!" I yelled with a pronounced slur, and Éowyn and I both started to laugh. The man with the torch approached, and I recognized that frown. "Boromir?"

"Tell me you are not in drink," he intoned.

"Nonsense," Éowyn replied as she picked up the last bottle of wine. She took an exaggerated sip and I started to wheeze beside her. Boromir was not amused.

"If you must take us in irons then I demand to be brought before a jury," I declared, but what came out was garbled Westron and English that everyone ignored. I laughed to myself nonetheless.

Boromir helped us both stand, and we wobbled and leaned on each other as we followed him out the garden and back into the main corridors. He'd confiscated the bottle and our glasses, and neither of us had been able to come up with a coherent argument.

"What were you two thinking?" he finally demanded as we were led into his sitting room. He was still in his training armor with bags under his eyes.

"Éowyn wanted details," I said knowingly.

"She can't keep all the Elvish secrets to herself," she added.

"They're hardly secrets," I admonished, swaying slightly in place. Thankfully Éowyn caught my arm.

"How was I to know if Elves had body hair? Faramir's got some tufts about his—"

"That's quite enough!" Boromir interrupted, and we both started to snicker, which eventually led us to falling unceremoniously on his couch trying to contain our amusement.

"Are you going to call Erynion?" I asked finally when we'd calmed, poking Éowyn gleefully. "Maybe I can convince him to go down on me tonight!"

Éowyn turned bright red as Boromir eyed us, not understanding.

"Maddie! That's hardly appropriate for the ears of the Steward!"

Boromir's eyebrows were creeping into his hairline, and there was definitely a twitch about his cheeks as he answered the knock on the door. Unfortunately Faramir could be more of a downer than his brother with the right push, and drunk Éowyn was it.

"Éowyn!" he cried, pulling her up from the bench and depriving me of a perfectly good armrest. I sort of gracefully collapsed on the rest of the couch until it was more of a chaise really. "What are you thinking?"

"She's wondering how willing you are to experiment," I replied for her, and to Éowyn's credit she only smiled coyly at her husband.

"What is this about Erynion?" Boromir interrupted, sounding annoyed. "What are you women giggling madly about?"

"He and Maddie are married," Éowyn replied blithely, leaning heavily on Faramir for balance. The apples of her cheeks were flushed red and her hair was in wonderful disarray.

"What?!" Boromir yelped, and I giggled from my newfound chaise.

"There's no rings, but a clover-patch did the trick."

I hadn't told anyone about clovers being present at our consummation, but either everyone's minds were in the gutter or Erynion was spreading rumors.

"You—But—Did he ask for your hand?" sputtered Boromir after several starts and stops. He was like my big brother sometimes, and I forgave him for his horror. I would have patted him on the hand, but when I tried I only touched air.

"I was hardly complaining."

"I trusted the decency of the Elves when you left with him and—" Thankfully we didn't get to hear the tail end of Boromir's outrage because Erynion conveniently showed up. If he'd heard what the Steward was saying he didn't show it.

"You've been drinking," was all he said as he took me in lying on my side. I made the monumental effort to sit up, because Erynion was worth it, damn it.

"Just swapping stories." I waggled my fingers at him to beckon him closer. Boromir was watching us very carefully.

"How much wine have you had?" Faramir asked Éowyn, who had wrapped both her hands around his waist to hold herself steady. I was just about ready to put my arms around Erynion too as he approached me. _We are so far gone,_ I thought to myself.

"Only one," she said impishly.

"That red wine from the south," I added.

"How many bottles of that wine?" Boromir asked tightly.

"My fingers are blurry," I complained in lieu of answering. I reached out to Erynion and he took my wiggling hand in his and cupped my elbow with the other to help me stand. I was pretty sure he was giving me an exasperated look but I had to squint. "You're beautiful," I told him very seriously.

"We were just celebrating Maddie's marriage," Éowyn complained to her husband and brother-in-law. "And the babies."

Erynion actually twitched a bit, which was rather like a human male falling to the floor in a spasm. I felt the tremor in his muscles because I hadn't pulled my hand away from his abs.

"The cute ones," I clarified, mind stuck on Erynion's expression as he looked down on that infant. It flew right over me and Éowyn's drunk heads how that comment could be interpreted.

Suddenly I was swung up into Erynion's arms, and I wasn't even sure about that until his blonde hair came into shaky focus. "Maddie needs rest," was all he said as he carried me out of the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a hot, wet kiss on his throat as we walked out the door. _I totally nabbed the hottest guy_ , I thought, not hearing the shocked gasp Boromir let out at our outrageous PDA.

"Is it true?" he asked quietly, and there was some emotion behind his voice I was far too drunk to identify.

"Is what true? Because if you mean if I can wield fire I'm gonna have to punch you."

"You are with child."

"I'm with you," I said stubbornly. Why was he being dumb? I pressed another kiss to his neck hoping to distract him to more fun things.

"You are pregnant."

I pulled back from his collarbone and shot him my best askance look. "No! Well, I don't think so at least." Then my slow, alcohol-hazed brain caught up. "Well, do you want me to be?"

Erynion though was as blank-faced as ever. He was masking whatever he felt. Normally I'd gotten better at seeing through this, but the wine was impairing that ability. "Erynion, do you want children? I've got a time limit you know."

Not for a solid fifteen years at least, but it was the thought that counted.

We passed through the doorway of the room, and I reached up to touch one cheek. "Erynion?"

"I would be honored," he said softly.

Pleased, I gave him a hard kiss on the mouth. "Well we'd better get to work then," I declared. This statement was meant to be deliberate and a prelude to bed games, but Erynion didn't move. I was still in his arms halfway to the bed.

"You desire children?"

"Who's going to ride Thunor's grandkids?" I said in what I thought was a perfectly logical response. I'd always imagined myself having children after I'd settled down in some proverbial future that I'd never quite gotten the details of. Plus, I was betting half-Elf children would be pretty adorable.

He finally set me down on the bed, and I pulled him down for a sloppy kiss. "I love you, you know."

That soft look he'd directed at the child was now at me, and I wondered if I'd see more of that face if I were pregnant. A tempting thought.

At least until something else hit me like a brick.

"I won't be able to get smashingly drunk with Éowyn then."

"Pardon?" Erynion asked from where he was helping pull my socks off my limp feet.

"Alcohol and pregnancies don't mix well. Nine whole months without any wine."

"Only nine months?" he said softly, lips lingering in my hair as he undid the laces. "Elven births require a whole year."

"I refuse to be a whale that long." I'd had one friend become pregnant when I was back home, and for all that talk of "pregnancy glow" she'd been heavy, sweaty, complaining about stretch-marks and craving bizarre things. "What if I desperately want pickles and ice cream?" I asked him suddenly with very real concern. "You don't have ice cream in Middle Earth. Or what if I want curry? Where am I going to get that?"

Erynion ignored my mumbled fears though and kissed me gently but firmly until I'd quite forgotten curry and ice cream. "Our children will come when they come, and all will be well."

"But fun first," I mumbled, too sleepy for sex really except that my mind was still on it.

"Fun tomorrow," Erynion promised, lips against mine and then my throat, and I realized only vaguely I had been undressed to my petticoat in the confusion. Too much drink and too much heady elf.

"…love you," I mumbled.

" _Le melin_ ," he murmured as I sunk into sleep.


	16. Is That the Horn of Gondor in Your Pocket? (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ridiculous romantic comedy of Boromir and Maddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: Guibass came up with the romantic comedy idea a while back, and then I wrote this and promptly forgot about it. But digging through my stories and hankering for some Boromir/Maddie, I unearthed it and fixed it up. Maddie is deliberately an idiot in some respects, and Boromir is an exaggeration of himself.
> 
> (For those of you not following me on Tumblr, I am 6000 words into the next chapter so it's coming along!)

**Is That the Horn of Gondor in Your Pocket?**

**(or are you just happy to see me?)**

"Boromir?"

"Yes?" He said, sounding grouchier than usual. I don't know if it was just court life or being cooped up in Minas Tirith now as Steward, but Boromir had been snappish whenever I spoke to him recently. I'd tried to ask Faramir if he knew what was bothering his brother, but he'd only told me to keep talking to him because it cheered him up. So far it didn't look like it though. It hadn't done much except earn me surly looks. "What is it?"

"What is 'daffodil'?"

"What?"

"Did I say it right? I was asked if I liked them but I don't know what they are." Boromir dragged his hand down his face, and I rolled my eyes at how dramatic he was being. "If you're not going to tell me I'll just go back and ask Lord Dere—"

"It's a flower. A yellow flower." He looked down at what he was reading with a frown on his face. I wondered if that was a very important report I was distracting him from. Considering how many there were on his desk though, he looked like he could use a break.

"Why would he ask me that?" Boromir opened his mouth, but I already had an idea. "I bet it was for Legolas! Legolas did say something about planting flowers, and I offered to help. That elf gets so caught up in his gardens that he probably just sent the first person he found to ask me."

"I'm fairly sure the first son of the silver merchant's guild head is no errand boy," Boromir muttered, but I wasn't sure what Lord Deremonth's job had to do with anything or what Boromir's point was.

"Well, uh, thank you Boromir." In retrospect, it was kind of silly for me to troop all the way to Boromir's office just to ask him a dumb question I could ask anyone. But really, Faramir had told me to talk to him and I was. Questions like this made a perfect excuse. I didn't know how many times I came by Boromir buried neck deep in work only to ask him what the significance of this ball was, and who was so-and-so who invited me, and what on earth did that comment about my dress mean?

I wasn't sure why Faramir thought this was helping. If anything it seemed to annoy him more.

* * *

Two days later I got the surliest frown yet when Boromir came by my quarters. He caught me with a vase of flowers in my hand trying to read a note that had such fancy calligraphy and so many swirls on each letter I was having real difficulty puzzling it out.

"Miss Mad—"

"Oh good Boromir, you're here. What does this say?" I pushed the note under his nose, and as he read it that was when the super-frown showed up on his face. His grip tightened on the fancy notepaper dangerously. "Is it something bad?"

"Lord… Elonion sent this to you." I think it was a question, but his voice was curiously tight.

"Yes," I held up the vase full of pink flowers. "Is it an apology? Or a thank you? I don't even remember when I last talked to him."

"It's… a gift."

I glanced at the flowers and then at Boromir's face, wondering if I was missing something.

"I bet these are rejects from Legolas," I said, looking at them curiously. "Well, I don't much like pink, and I've already got flowers from Lord Deremonth—those yellow ones you told me the name of—I guess to see if I really do like them. I'm not really sure what to do with these ones." Boromir didn't say anything, as his gaze had transferred to the yellow flowers in the corner and seemed fixed on it. "Is it possible to braid them into Thunor's hair? Or wait! Oh no, it's too bad Erynion's gone, otherwise I'd scatter them all over his room. Legolas would probably thank me."

"Thunor would likely eat them," he said, and then glanced back at the vase. "Though you could try braiding them in. You did find the pink ribbons to your liking." There was something speculative in the look he was giving the flowers that made me wonder if Thunor had done something to him that warranted revenge.

* * *

"You only need a thin bit of the stem for braiding," Boromir explained, showing me how to weave the flower into a braid. Thunor was being surprisingly docile, munching on something behind Boromir's back. I watched carefully to see how the flower was interwoven into the hair. It didn't _look_ complicated, but I bungled these things up all the time.

"So no leaves?"

"You do not need the leaves." I started to strip the flowers in my hand of long stalks and leaves, but when I went to get more so Boromir could braid them the bucket had been moved.

"No Thunor!" I snatched the bucket out of the destrier's reach, but the damage had been done. All those pink flowers had been crushed or eaten by my silly horse. "Those were a gift! You were going to have pink flowers in your hair!"

"Mane," Boromir corrected behind me, sounding like he was trying not to laugh, and when I looked back at him that was the first time I saw him smiling in a good long while. He patted Thunor's neck gently, only half the braids done.

"Mane, whatever. Well, we can't tell Lord Deremonth."

"You mean Lord Elonion?"

"Who?" These names were easier to remember than Elvish ones, but all the courtiers spoke so flowery to me and wore such complicated outfits every day that I didn't bother to really remember any of them besides the ones I liked. And so far, other than Éowyn, there were about two I could stand.

Boromir started to laugh, a deep-bellied one that made him stoop over. He looked carefree and a lot more handsome than usual (though I always thought Boromir was one of the better looking men I'd seen, even if he was rough around the edges), and finally it seemed I'd managed to get his mind off his worries like Faramir had asked. Boromir patted Thunor's flank heavily, and I had a brilliant idea.

* * *

"Brother, Maddie will be surprising you with a ride today. I suggest you tell her how you feel, or at least give her a gift." Faramir said, moments after he slipped into Boromir's chamber after breakfast, looking quite excited about this.

"Riding? Normally she takes Éowyn and often a follower or two who tags along until they lose them." Boromir deliberately ignored the chiding about Maddie. Faramir resisted the urge to shake his older brother by the shoulders, but only just.

"I've made sure Éowyn will be conveniently busy. Maddie wants to do this for you. She came to me almost two weeks ago concerned you were… grumpy." Faramir looked ready to laugh, and Boromir looked affronted. "She said something about horses and pink flowers to get your spirits up."

Predictably, Boromir's brow wrinkled at the reminder of those flowers the courtiers were sending. Ever since it had become apparent the resident mage—though she vehemently denied the title and anything to do with fire—was _not_ being courted by one of the brothers or even an Elf (she'd snorted wine out of her nose when Éowyn had told Maddie everyone thought she was having a passionate affair with Erynion) several of the lords had jumped to woo her. Boromir, in a major understatement, was not happy.

At first Faramir and Aragorn had laughed themselves sick as the Captain of the White Tower deliberately sent out the more forward captains under his command before they could build much rapport with Maddie, but he wasn't able to stop the merchant's guild members or the other noble houses from their attempts. And instead of acting on his feelings, Faramir's dear brother had taken to grumbling about the blatant attempts to court Maddie and sending dark looks at those who dared.

Maddie, in a baffling fit of blindness, had totally misinterpreted his surliness as unhappiness with his job. Faramir kept sending her to him in the hopes Boromir would finally just spit out what he was feeling or Maddie would notice, but it had been weeks and he'd only heard about several more courting attempts Boromir had thwarted or Maddie had upended into his lap.

(There was a hilarious one involving a young ranger under Faramir's command who sent Maddie at lovely letter-opener as a courting gift and the woman had eagerly shown Boromir, accidentally jabbing herself with it in the process. Boromir took it away ostensibly for her safety even though there'd been no blood. Faramir had it on good authority it had been melted down almost immediately.)

What Aragorn couldn't get past was how ignorant Maddie remained of all these romantic overtures. Faramir had tried to explain what Éowyn had shared about courtship in Maddie's home, especially the all-important "straightforwardness" which was not how things were done in Gondor. It was lucky for Boromir in some respects, because most of the time what the suitors were trying to do went right over Maddie's head. Give her a political issue and she could see ten sides of it, but a man giving her a compliment on her hair and she acted like he was trying to wheedle some magic from her and walked away.

"Take her round the fields and towards the river. She'd like the view along the riverbank, I'm sure brother."

Boromir's eyebrow quirked up as Faramir's casual tone. "Isn't there a court party by a certain silver merchant and lord tomorrow? That happens to be on a boat on the river?" It looked like the stubborn Boromir who kept his nose well out of court affairs wasn't quite so out of the loop. Particularly since Maddie had tendered an invitation, which Éowyn had conveniently made sure she never read.

"The very same silver merchant who may have commissioned a large teardrop sapphire necklace for a certain woman from his smiths." Boromir dropped the quill he was holding, and Faramir started to laugh because Boromir wasn't quick enough to stop the angry look crossing his face. "That piece isn't finished yet, I've made sure, but your friend Gimli brought me this some days ago." Faramir presented the thin box to Boromir, who was looking both aggrieved and suspicious. He knew well how much he got teased about Maddie, but she was a woman of another land, and one who—

Inside the box was a necklace with a chain of spun-silver and a locket on the end. There was a tiny hinge and carvings of intertwined ivy and leaves that could only be done by the most skilled of hands. It was too fine a work for the smiths of Men and too delicate for any Dwarf. Gently, his thumb almost too big for it, Boromir opened the locket to see a miniature Horn of Gondor engraved on one side, and on the other on a tiny embedded emerald.

Boromir's expression was utterly stunned, and Faramir was almost worried for him for a moment. But then the Steward sat back, looking at the inside of the little locket like it had confirmed all his dreams—and in some respects it had.

"Gimli told me that the elf Erynion gave this to him from the Lady of the Wood as the dwarf passed through. The elf bade you the best wishes—along with a threat on your life should you harm her. I was to present it at the best moment." Faramir's eyes twinkled a bit, "I think I may just take a trip down to that boat just to see the lords' faces when you ride by, her hand in yours."

"Faramir," he gasped a bit, unable to let go of the necklace even still, "You jest if you think—"

"I think," Faramir interrupted firmly, "that she has found some excuse to visit you nearly every day since she came here, and she tries her hardest to see you smile. This is no jest. Even the king will make sure you get off your ass and stumble to your knees begging her favor, but he'll be a lot less kind about it." Faramir was laughing through his serious words, but he was pleased when Boromir's expression started to look determined.

* * *

"Are you ready?" I asked excitedly. Even since seeing Boromir laughing over Thunor and the flowers I thought a good hard ride might be just the thing to life his spirits. Faramir had been so enthusiastic about it he'd promised to clear Boromir's schedule just for this. I'd have been suspicious if I didn't think he had his brother's best intentions at heart.

"I am," the Steward replied, adjusting his grip on the reins. We had to warm up to a gallop first, though Thunor was predictably ready to bolt out of the gate. He'd had been a Triple Crown winner in another world. "There are some beautiful views of the river I'd recommend seeing later," he said, glancing at me. That reminded me of something.

"Boromir, what is 'the river venture'?"

"What?"

"Someone asked me if I was looking forward to the 'river venture'." It was more nonsense out of courtier's mouths in my opinion. They spoke so fancily it was like another language.

"It's nothing," he said, frown back in place. I frowned too because somehow the jocularity from before was gone.

"Well Lord Elonion mentioned it. Or maybe the other one. The blond with the eyebrows, do you know the one I mean?" Somehow Boromir's look slipped into distaste. Maybe he didn't like that guy with the caterpillar eyebrows. "Are they not friends of yours?"

"No."

"Well I did think their buttons were kind of ridiculous," I mused to myself. Some courtier talking to me at that last dinner had tiny golden fish complete with scales painted on his buttons. Talk about painstaking detail. Those golden fish had been more interesting than whatever he'd been talking about.

"You were close enough to see his buttons?" Boromir said with a peculiar tone, and I cocked my head at him and shrugged.

"They were shiny."

His grip was white-knuckled on the reins. Maybe his horse was eager to run too.

* * *

"I have something for you," he said quite suddenly as we watered the horses sometime later. I hardly heard him though because Thunor was shaking his head sharply enough that I kept getting smacked by his mane.

"Do that one more time Thunor, and I promise I'll cut your mane so short you'll look bald." I glanced back at Boromir, who had one hand inside his pocket and was looking very uncomfortable. "Are you okay?"

"The White City is…" he started, and then stopped, taking a breath. I watched him concerned. He took another halting breath, and I wondered if maybe he was developing asthma. Was that possible? "It is my home. Minas Tirith. And I would hope to share that with you."

I blinked, unconsciously smacking Thunor when he jerked his head back far enough to whack me with his mane. "Well it is my home. I live there now," I replied, a little confused. "So we already share a home."

I paused as that particularly phrasing sunk into me, and I flushed. Boromir definitely wasn't talking about anything like that.

"Yes but… here, it's a gift for you," he said quickly, pulling a silver box out of his pocket and handing it to me. Boromir had never given me anything before.

"It's not my birthday," I said perplexed. I'd told Éowyn it was in the spring, and whatever I told Éowyn inevitably was shared with Faramir, which probably made its wait into Boromir's ear.

"The Elves made it, and the occasion is…" he added before trailing off, sounding frustrated. Boromir's temper always seemed to run short nowadays, but I could never tell what would exasperate it.

"From Erynion?" That was even weirder, and would just fuel those stupid rumors about my torrid affair with him. Damn Gimli for getting drunk and yelling about love letters to Lórien. He'd been making fun of Legolas' adoration of the mallorn trees, but of course everyone had thought it was me.

"No, it's…" he made a noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss. "Here." He put his hands on mine and made me open the box. Inside was a silver necklace twinkling in the sunlight. I couldn't breathe, but it seemed like Boromir had drawn his first breathe in ten minutes.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, glancing up at Boromir who had a confusing array of emotions on his face. The only thing I could tell was this definitely wasn't from Erynion. He would have gotten me a taxidermy squirrel.

"It opens."

"It does?" I pulled it out of the box and felt around for the clasp. Already I could tell this was the most heartfelt gift I'd ever gotten. Cliff and his store-bought chocolates were looking pretty pathetic.

I opened it, stunned to see a miniature Horn of Gondor on one side, the detail impossibly tiny. "Do you have the horn with you? I'd like to see it!" Boromir made a choking noise, and I glanced up to see him red in the face. My unintentional innuendo went right past me though. "I want to see how closely it matches."

"I do not have it with me, but when we return I will show you."

I peered at the other side of the locket, which had a tiny embedded emerald. That made me smile more than anything, and when I looked up Boromir had this strangely soft look in his eye. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" His voice was a bit gruffer, and I couldn't help peering through my lashes up at him and wondering where his mind had gone.

"About the emerald. The horn is obviously you, but I never told you what my name meant. In fact…" I frowned now, glancing around like I might spot something amiss, "I didn't tell anyone my last name was the same as the color green."

I heard Boromir mutter, "Elves" over my head.

"It doesn't matter," I persisted. "It's beautiful all the same. More because it came from you," I added a bit shyly, thrilled to see the smile that lit his features unhindered.

 _Wow, he's hot,_ I thought unbidden.

Boromir too was looking like he'd taken a blow over the head. We both just kind of stared at each other until something in me snapped to attention. "Will you put it on me?"

"W-What?" he sputtered, and I held out the necklace. Boromir took the tiny clasp in his big fingers and I twisted around so he could put it around my neck. He fumbled to lock it, but eventually he managed, and I spun to admire it. The locket fell perfectly under my collarbone. As I was admiring I missed Boromir's failed attempt not to stare.

Eventually he cleared his throat. "Come. I promised Faramir to ride by a lord's party with you."

"Party?" Usually I got invited to these sorts of things. Boromir did too in fact. It was amusing to me that Faramir had said Boromir usually refused to go, but recently he'd been accepting invitations. I wondered what had made him change his mind about going to them.

"On a boat."

"The river venture!" I yelped, loud enough that Thunor jerked his head around. "Well that makes sense. Was I supposed to be there?"

The frown was back. "If you did not reply you were not expected."

"I don't remember an invitation," I commented, and Boromir looked curiously fidgety.

"It's not a party of significance."

"Who's hosting it?" I tried to keep up with all the VIPs of Gondor since I kept going to their parties, but the bloodlines and powerful families were all a mess. I appreciated how Boromir cut through the tangle. I touched the necklace again and felt another surge of happiness rush through me. Whoever I had offended by not going to the party seemed insignificant now.

"A silversmith."

"Oh, Lord Deremonth?"

"The very same."

"He's a bit strange," I commented, brow furrowing a bit when Boromir choked back a laugh. "Don't you think so?"

"I think he'll be disappointed," Boromir said with a strange twinge in his voice that had to be glee. He turned his horse back into the wooded area we'd been riding through.

"Why on earth would he be disappointed?" I asked, twitching the reins on Thunor, but he wasn't done drinking and wouldn't move until he was. Stubborn horse.

Boromir looked particularly smug as he answered. "Because you've chosen to spend the day with me rather than at his party."

"Well of course I have," I said good-naturedly, fingering the locket. "I like you an awful lot more than I like him."

It took a moment for the words to hit me, which meant Boromir had to turn his horse around from where he'd trotted off when I didn't follow. "Maddie?"

I gripped the locket again, feeling my heart pound under it. "It's you and me."

He pulled up close looking bewildered, but for once I knew exactly what this Gondorian gesture meant. "It's a courting gift." Éowyn had a beautiful hairpin she'd gotten from Faramir. I had this gorgeous necklace.

"Yes," Boromir said softly, looking nervous, but I was way past that by now. Boromir, handsome, thoughtful, grumpy Boromir had presented me with this. He'd said he wanted to make a home in Minas Tirith together.

"Does this mean…"

He straightened up on the horse, every bit the Steward. There was still a little curve around his mouth that was all Boromir though. "I would ask your permission to court you, Lady Maddie, and await your favorable reply."

"I have no idea what that means, but I wasn't kidding when I said I liked you a lot more than Deremonth." It was one of those things where you just acknowledge that your friend is hot and you'd do them, but you never actually thought it would happen and so let it go. And then he handed me this locket and suddenly I had the very real prospect of kissing Boromir in the future.

Very near future actually.

"How do I make a favorable reply?"

"You already did." He looked thrilled in fact, and forget alleviating his stress! Maybe he'd always been stressed when I was around _because_ I was around and he didn't have his gift for the offer yet. Faramir was a cruel, cruel brother.

"Seal it with a kiss," I demanded, still thinking about his mouth on mine. "That's how we do things in my land."

Boromir pulled back, instead of looking excited. "With all things?"

I rolled my eyes and planned to seal a letter to Boromir with a kiss just to see what he'd say. "Just love."

He still looked a tad hesitant, but I tugged on Thunor's mane until he sidestepped closer, and put a hand on Boromir's shoulder to pull him down. (And what impressive, muscular shoulders those were!) He wasn't hesitating now, and he kissed just right, mouth firm and lips soft, eventually cupping my face with both hands to bring the heat up a notch.

We pulled back only because Thunor was attempting to cock-block me by walking away. Frustratingly I was pulled away and Boromir started to laugh as I reprimanded my overly intelligent horse.

"Thunor is more aware of Gondorian decorum than you are," he said through hunched shoulders as he caught his breath after his laughing fit.

"The only decorum I know is what Éowyn and Faramir exercise, and that was chaste in comparison!"

I hadn't thought that one through, but thankfully Boromir seemed to already know that too. "There is decorum and then there is reality," he admitted.

I tried to get Thunor to go back over to Boromir, but the horse was having none of it. "Tonight," I promised him. "You, me, and a pair of scissors."

"To Lord Deremonth's party," Boromir announced, trotting off with backward glances to make sure Thunor and I were following. We wound through the forest until we reached a hilltop that crested just over the river. The view was astounding, with Minas Tirith framed in the background by picturesque clouds and blue sky, the water a silvery snake winding through green lands. At the base of the hill below us were a myriad of flowers, awash in blue, pink and yellow. There wasn't a more romantic spot in all of Middle Earth in my opinion, I thought as I stretched over until I could grab Boromir's extended hand. We both had to reach a little because Thunor was a brat, but we made it work.

"Wait," I interrupted, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "Those flowers weren't for Legolas?"

* * *

We passed the party in high spirits a short while later. I could see the boat as we approached, the deck on top covered in poofy dresses and men done up like peacocks. Boromir, in his casual garb and loose hair, looked far better than any of them. I hadn't realized the party would be right by the shore, but there they were; not quite close enough to see the detail on the buttons, but our identities would be unmistakable.

So of course Boromir spurred his horse close to Thunor and grabbed my hand so we looked like cliché lovers on a romantic horseback ride. (If we were perfectly cliché it would end with a lovely romp in a glade, which I was not opposed to.)

"You're doing this on purpose!" I accused, because indeed the moment we were in view I could hear some gasps and voices rising.

"You love riding, and I know an excellent spot by the river you'd like just this way," Boromir denied, but he was grinning so broadly no one would have bought it.

I pulled his hand up to my lips pressing a hard kiss on the back just to laugh at his expression and for the benefits of the nobles. "Next time tell me and we can scandalize them properly."

He slowed us both as we started up a hill that would take us away from the river, and when we reached the top he turned back, looked deliberately at the boat, and then kissed me full on the lips.

"Scandal enough for you?" he breathed as he pulled back.

I almost said something very naughty in line with my cliché-lovers idea (it included heavy innuendo and mention of Boromir's Horn of Gondor), but I held back and instead kissed him once more before we left.


	17. Ethiron & Erynion (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie meets Ethiron properly... sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: I don't know what I was doing when I wrote this. (Oh and yes, the next chapter of HwtF is in the works.)
> 
> Daro means "stop" or "halt" in Elvish—thank you sajirah for double-checking me!
> 
> Ú-bedin edhellen means "I don't speak Elvish" I believe. Thank you arwen-undomiel's website.

Erynion hadn't been quite sure what to expect when he'd returned to the talan to find it empty. At this time of night Maddie was almost assuredly asleep, but the bed was untouched and no food eaten from the stores. So Erynion left and it only took a few inquiries to lead him to his brother's talan with an answer.

"At your behest I invited Maddie to dinner," Ethiron explained in Elvish when Erynion appeared in the doorway, but didn't elucidate why Maddie was holding a glass of Elvish wine or frowning at Ethiron now.

"You're supposed to be practicing your Westron," she chastised, taking another sip before Erynion could stop her. He'd already noticed one empty bottle on the floor, and the way Maddie lazily smiled at him when he approached revealed how much she'd drunk. Normally she was a bit shyer in the presence of other Elves.

"You have chosen a fiery woman, brother," Ethiron commented. He too had a glass of wine in his hand, but he was significantly less inebriated than Maddie. At least he looked it until he began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Maddie demanded, knocking her glass a little harder than necessary on the table as she put it down. "Why is Erynion doing the eyebrow thing?"

Erynion was not sure if he should be pleased Maddie had made Ethiron comfortable enough to laugh, or annoyed that his brother had gotten her drunk. She looked back up at Erynion pleadingly. "I don't understand."

"A pun."

"Puns aren't that funny," she groused, reaching for her glass again, which Erynion deftly moved out of her reach. She leaned farther forward into her chair and stretched out a hand, and this time he lifted the glass and put it on a high shelf. "That's not fair. That's my glass. Get your own."

Ethiron was watching this all bright-eyed. "What is it you said, Lady Maddie?" he said in Westron, "the night is young?"

"Uh oh," she said glancing between the brothers and giggling. "That stare means he's frustrated by you."

"I'm well acquainted with it," Ethiron replied with a smile.

Maddie smiled back. "You look like him when you smile. I wish he did it more. I don't think I'm funny enough."

"Erynion doesn't laugh or smile in humor," Ethiron said with a somewhat indulgent look at his brother. "He smiles at something beautiful, and he laughs for someone he loves." Then Ethiron transferred his look from Maddie to Erynion and finished in Elvish. "She makes you do both."

Erynion knew Ethiron could see how much it pleased him that they got along so well. Maddie had been very anxious when she'd realized returning to Lothlórien with Erynion would mean meeting his family. Boromir's approval wasn't the same as the approval of Erynion's blood brother of centuries, but Ethiron had put her at ease now and liked her. That made it a little easier to forgive his brother for giving Maddie Elvish wine when he knew perfectly well Erynion had warned him she got strange notions into her head under the influence.

"She has admitted great appreciation for your achievements," his brother said, putting his glass down on the table. Maddie started to lean towards it and Ethiron politely shifted it to the table beside his chair out of her reach. Even he knew letting Maddie have it right in front of his brother would guarantee trouble. "Erynion warned me you were fond of wine."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," she complained. "And you can't double-team me." She looked only mildly offended though, and more frustrated that the brothers were talking about her when she couldn't understand.

"I told her you were not so heroic in our youth," Ethiron continued in Sindarin, ignoring Maddie's growl. "You fell out of the that tree once and broke your hand. And then angered that stallion enough to charge you. You've always been quick, but I do not think I've ever seen you move so fast as when that horse galloped you down."

" _Daro,_ Thunor!" Maddie cried, then paused. "I mean, _daro,_ Ethiron! You said you wanted to practice Westron."

"It is not so pressing as you learning Elvish if you wish to live here. Has Erynion been teaching you our tongue?" he asked curiously.

Maddie sighed, glancing over at her glass on the shelf she couldn't reach. She'd complained more than once that Elves built things too tall for her. "Only the important things _._ _Ú-bedin edhellen_ ," she said slowly. It wasn't lilting, or "song-y" as Maddie described the way the Elves spoke, but her accent wasn't terrible. She was starting to sway in place though, a sure sign the drink was settling in deeply now.

"Come, Maddie," Erynion said, crouching by her side. "You may visit with Ethiron another time."

"No, no," she refused, gripping Erynion by the arm now. "I wanted to see Ethiron do the eyebrow thing. He promised me."

Erynion's eyebrow quirked of it's own accord, and Maddie reached out and poked it, smiling again. "Yes, _that_ thing."

"I don't understand," Ethiron replied, this time in Westron.

"Look at Erynion," Maddie said, but Erynion's eyebrow had already lowered. "Wait, hold on," she said to Ethiron, who was watching curiously. She touched Erynion's cheek with just one finger lightly, then, forgetting Ethiron was also an Elf, whispered to him. "Did you know, Erynion, that I wore your shirt to bed for those three nights you went on that hunting trip?"

Instead of the eyebrow response though, Erynion's eyes flickered about her face, gauging whether she was telling the truth. She'd said she missed him when he'd gone on that brief hunting trip with an old friend, but Erynion had thought she'd said it more out of politeness than true emotion. He'd only been gone a few days after all. Nonetheless, he felt his lips pull up at the ends when all he saw was earnestness in her eyes.

"No, Erynion, you have to do the eyebrow thing," she scolded.

"She makes you as a young lover again, Erynion," Ethiron teased in Sindarin. "Are all the race of Men so vibrant? Perhaps I should help our brethren in Ithilien with the gardens and meet some of these women." Maddie gasped as she looked over at his brother—at first Erynion thought she'd understood him somehow, and then recognized the expression on his brother's face.

"You're doing the eyebrow thing! You can both do it!" Ethiron creased his brows, ruining the effect, and Erynion took that opportunity to take Maddie's hands and coax her out of the chair. "Erynion!" she complained as she stood up, swaying into him unsteadily. "But Ethiron didn't tell me the story about the boar and the Mirkwood Ellon. And I can't leave my wine glass unfinished."

He sighed as he held her to him for a moment while she regained her balance. He wanted to glare at Ethiron for desiring to share some of Erynion's oldest stories—many from his youth when he was as curious and foolhardy as Maddie could be—but instead he felt a smile tug at his lips as Ethiron commiserated with her. "Let him do as he pleases. You can't argue with Erynion. I've had plenty of years to try."

Maddie smiled at Ethiron, head tucked into Erynion's arm as she gave up keeping her own balance. "Yeah, I'm figuring that out."

Then she let herself be led out of Ethiron's talan after Erynion reminded his brother to drink a glass of water and rest. Ethiron promised to find him tomorrow, for he wished to meet with Maddie again. Then the two left, and Erynion carried Maddie down the talan steps and to the forest floor rather than let her stumble her way through it. Normally Maddie might have commented or even complained, but right now she rested her lips against his skin and seemed to breathe him in slowly.

"I like your brother," she murmured softly, when they were halfway up the steps to their talan. "He's nice." Erynion brushed his lips against her forehead, then took the last few stairs to their room. He sat her down on the bed where she went complacently. "He talks more than you. And he laughs."

Erynion didn't reply, stripping her slippers off her feet and helping her fumbling fingers unlace the front of her dress. It seemed like he'd done this a hundred times already, but really Maddie didn't find herself so lost in drink like this often—the last time had been with Lady Éowyn in Minas Tirith several months ago. But when she did see the bottom of an Elvish wine glass, Erynion had more insight to her thoughts than any other time.

"He is younger than I," he said softly. "He has not left the safety of the forest in many years."

"He worries about you. And loves you."

"I know."

"I do too," she said a bit earnestly, leaning up to him. Erynion kissed her softly until she stopped worrying her bottom lip. She sighed into his mouth, pleased, and he licked the taste of the wine from her.

"I know that too."

"Stop knowing things and kiss me," she said impetuously, and he had to smile as he kissed her again until sleep made her more tired than she could stand.

"Go to sleep," he whispered in Elvish, petting back her hair until she relaxed into dreams. He would have to thank his brother tomorrow for reassuring Maddie of her fears the Elvish community would reject her. He would also have to be clear that plying her with wine made Maddie more terrifying, not less.


	18. Erynion & Maddie Plus 1 (Plus 1 Part One) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erynion is very supportive, but pregnancy is never a walk in the Elven garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: The long-awaited pregnancy fic. (Although, after I'd written a good 4000 words of this, a lovely commenter has sparked a desire for a more Elvish style conception fic, so that will be happening some time in the future.) Fair warning: I have never been pregnant and no one very close to me has yet, so I'm working off a bazillion pregnancy websites. If you see anything wrong or weird let me know.
> 
> Also at the beginning of this I was also kind of drinking and may have gotten a little too stuck on the smuttier side at first… but I guess you'll just have to forgive me.
> 
> HwtF note: I'm sorry there hasn't been an update recently. I'm having a spot of writer's block which is exceedingly frustrating. That's why I'm working on drabbles and ficlets to keep writing in the universe in the hopes that I can write myself through the block.

I sat restlessly in the window seat of our Rivendell rooms watching the sunlight on the water of the river. Rivendell was as peaceful as ever, even as the number of Elves dwindled. Erynion and I had only arrived last night from Lothlórien, taking the long journey slowly at Erynion's insistence. Elrond had trained his sons in the arts of healing, and Erynion and I wanting nothing less than the best when it came to the birth.

I'd had the weeks of travel to come to terms with the fact that no, my period wasn't coming, and yes, I was definitely hoping to find a mysterious chocolate bar in Middle Earth because I'd never craved anything harder in my life. I was most definitely pregnant, at least as far as I could tell. When I'd admitted to Erynion my suspicion I hadn't been quite sure what to expect, and I didn't know anything about Elvish pregnancies. We hadn't talked much about children, just kind of accepting we would when it happened.

Which was now, and Erynion had taken the news with aplomb. I'd been a bit crazier.

" _I'm pregnant," I repeated a fourth time and then started babbling before Erynion could get a word in edgewise. "It's been a few weeks and I'm overdue, and I threw up yesterday morning when you were already at the archery field, and I'm pretty sure I'm reading the signs right, and—"_

_Erynion gripped my shaky hands in his steady ones and guided me down into the chair in the corner. He sat down beside me, hands never leaving mine until I'd taken a few deep breaths. It was funny, when I'd first realized what the signs meant I'd been totally cool with it, but the moment I had to tell him I'd lost all my composure._

_Erynion watched me carefully, probably having no idea what to make of me, and then he tucked me into him until my face was pressed to his chest and his lips were against my hair. "You are sure?"_

_I nodded, and in his arms I didn't feel afraid for how rocky a pregnancy could be, the possibility of miscarrying, how on earth the delivery would work, and what kind of mother I would make. I knew that with Erynion he'd be the rock that would suffer every wave, and so long as I tied myself to him I'd be fine._

" _We've having a baby," I whispered, feeling my first wave of glee at delivering the news. "We're having a baby!"_

" _We are," he said, one hand holding me to him still and the other slipping around to press against my stomach, though it was the same as always. At my wondrous expression he laughed—really laughed, with such joy I'd never heard before. It rang clear in the talan, setting birds off twittering by the Elven, melodious laugh. I wanted to grab hold of that laugh and keep it pressed against my heart. I wanted to cherish the exuberance it revealed, and I all but climbed into Erynion's lap to hold him that much closer to me._

_When he'd calmed and I'd settled for keeping only the memory of such a marvelous laugh, he looked so ethereally beautiful radiating happiness. Any baby who had even an ounce of that fey light in Erynion would be just fine._

" _I think you are glowing," he whispered, his blue eyes bright as faerie lights at night, and there was nothing hiding the wide smile on his face._

" _You definitely are," I whispered back._

I happily reveled in that reminiscence of Erynion's joy, especially as two birds fluttered by the window, chattering away. He'd set all the birds off in the nearby trees with his laughter then, and a number of curious Elves had called to us when we'd stepped out. I hadn't even considered what the Lothlórien Elves might think at the news, but I shouldn't have been afraid when Erynion had all but shouted it down from the talan (i.e. he walked down the steps calmly and then told Ethiron in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice). There had been spontaneous singing and a veritable feast delivered to us by various Elves, and I got about a million congratulations in the span of a few hours. No one was more appreciative of new lives than ones who'd lived a hundred of them—it's an innocence you can't get back.

I shifted on the window seat to watch Erynion walk out of the washroom wearing only his leggings. His body was lean and corded, not unlike a dancer's, except for the shoulders, which were bulked out a little more from all the archery he did. Elves somehow didn't really tan, so while he was fascinated by the fluctuations in my skin tone, he remained that pale-golden hue that glowed the slightest bit in moonlight. He was also noticeably happy, which was quite the change in his normally unreadable self.

I admired the play of his back muscles as he sat down at the vanity and combed out his hair, separating some of the strands for his typical braids. He looked beautiful as he always did, but the pure elation and delight at remembering the beginning of the pregnancy was steadily replaced by interest in a different kind of ecstasy. My eyes followed the lines of muscle, the warm skin I could lick, the narrow hips I could wrap my legs around… there was little doubt he could feel my hungry stare from across the room.

Heightened libido was a common side effect of pregnancy, right there beside cravings, mood swings, and a lot of other hormonal craziness. They'd started to hit me about a week after we'd left Lothlórien. I had no way of estimating how far along in the pregnancy I was, but the first trimester was notoriously the most hormonal—not that the others were anything to sneer at. Erynion was learning all about it firsthand, since apparently Elven pregnancies weren't quite so… bumpy.

If I couldn't have the chocolate I'd been hankering for, then I decided I'd get what I could. I stood up and sauntered over to where he was seated, watching me in the mirror. We'd been together almost two and a half years—which sort of made my pregnancy now rather amazing—and traveling together longer than that, so I wasn't shy about asking for what I wanted.

I slid my hands over those toned shoulders, the skin buttery smooth. I watched him watch me in the mirror, his gaze almost lazily assessing while mine was definitely burning. Erynion finished the right braid unhurriedly as I trailed fingers over one loose muscle and then another, and then over the curve of his lean bicep.

"I thought you were longing for your chocolate," he murmured as he sectioned off strands for the left braid. He had a near-native pronunciation for the word after hearing me wonder aloud where I could find it through much of our trip to Rivendell. Obviously I would crave something that was absolutely impossible to find in Middle Earth.

"Did until two minutes ago," I whispered, tongue darting out to touch the tip of one pointed ear. I hooked a hand around his arm and encouraged him up until he was standing. I couldn't have pulled him anywhere, but he went willingly, endlessly amused at how insatiable the hormones sometimes made me. It was a damn good thing Elves had such impressive stamina.

He didn't move until I tugged him along to the bed we'd only abandoned an hour ago. I'd slept in late, exhausted by all the travel, and Erynion had humored me and stayed in bed too. My finger snagged in the waistband of his breeches, but he unhelpfully didn't remove them no matter how much I tugged. My head was a little clouded with hormones and the smell of Erynion's favorite soap, so when I pouted he laughed, this one full of humor.

"Let me," he said, loosening the laces and tucking a thumb around the edge to slide them down. He had no idea what a striptease was, but he was awfully good at it.

I watched dry-mouthed as the leggings slid away, and then I tangled my tongue with his, his mouth always a little hotter than a Man's. I was almost distracted enough that I didn't feel his fingers against my knee as he gathered the nightgown I'd worn to bed in hand, drawing it achingly slowly up. Inch by inch more of our skin was pressed together until finally we had to separate at the mouth to be free of the clothing. Then Erynion gently laid me on the bed and I stroked his flexed biceps as he set me down, because his ridiculous Elvish strength could be such a turn-on sometimes.

We christened the bed properly then, reaching our climax moments apart. His braids had come undone because of my hands, and that last bite had definitely left a mark. Collapsed there, I felt properly sated, and the persistent gnawing for chocolate had finally left me for now. I lied facedown in a pile of blankets and pillows half-under Erynion, whose lips still rested against my shoulder. I giggled as I felt them slide down a bit and then linger on one spot on my shoulder blade.

"Why always there?" I murmured into the sheets. They still smelled clean and fresh despite the activity they'd just seen. So many detergent companies would have killed for the magic of the Elves.

He didn't respond verbally, but I felt the tip of his tongue swipe me as he kept moving to the other side. I giggled at the ticklish feeling, not the least bit sleepy despite how busy we'd been moments ago. "No, but really Erynion."

I laughed again, feeling a little ticklish as his fingers trailed wandering lines up and down my back. Was he writing words? Runes? Painting a picture?

"You have small sunspots on your skin," he finally murmured, "like a constellation of stars. Like the speckles of a tiger lily." He eventually slid to the side so I could roll over.

"You mean my freckles?" I didn't know the Westron name for them, but I could guess at what he was saying. He was already getting up though, and I reached up to snag him and missed by centimeters. "Where are you going?"

Nude, he crossed back to the washroom for a second time, and I gave half a second's thought to following before sinking back into the bed. I waited languorously there for him to return, not tired but not wanting to move either; caught in that pleasant in between.

Unfortunately just as I was drifting off almost into meditation a knock sounded on our door, and I sighed and gathered up the sheets around me until I was decently covered. I would have preferred to wrap myself in Erynion, but…

Erynion stepped back out fully dressed now, and answered the door with the slimmest crack possible to maintain my modesty. He accepted some kind of package before closing the door again.

His lips twitched up at me and he was holding something wrapped in a leaf. I'd only seen lembas come in a leaf before, but couldn't think of why on Middle Earth he'd want lembas delivered here. I got enough of it as it was from all the travel we did. (Perks to marrying a Lothlórien Elf: free homemade lembas so hunting wasn't usually necessary, thank goodness.)

I giggled at the slow look he gave me. I continued to lay on my back wrapped haphazardly in sheets, hair all messed up with a love bite on my neck—all while watching him with a slightly wanton look, despite not being full recovered from the love-making we'd just done. He, in contrast, was dressed, hair loose but combed, looking exactly as refined as I did not. We made quite the couple.

"I know that face," I answered, reading his expression. I'd gotten pretty good at that by now. "And I'm only drunk on you. No wine, mead, ale, or anything fermented until the baby is born. Fruits and vegetables galore."

He didn't know the last word, but he'd gracefully accepted my self-imposed ban on alcohol. Elves didn't have to deal with deformities or disabilities quite like humans, but I wasn't taking any chances. As it were, I was going to pester the twin Lords of Rivendell about any and all anesthetic herbs I could take for the actual delivery.

"This is for you," he said without explanation, offering me the leaf.

"Lembas? You shouldn't have," I replied, regretfully sitting up to take the leafy parcel.

He turned away instead of responding, and I tucked the blanket under my arms and carefully unwrapped the leaf. Inside was a dark bread of some kind. Not lembas then, but I couldn't make out what it was.

"What is it?"

" _Ceren_."

I looked down at the bread and then back at Erynion. We'd gotten very good at non-verbal communication.

"Sweet bread with filling." When he didn't elaborate but just kept casually watching me as he buttoned his tunic and knelt for his slippers, I realized he was waiting for me to eat it.

I wasn't particularly hungry, but if he'd gone through the effort then there was probably more to this than I thought. I broke a corner of the bread off but didn't see anything special about it. It tasted fluffier than it looked, almost airy like a croissant, which surprised me. Then again, the Elves—when they didn't drink wine—drank something that looked like water but was probably the Greek nectar of the gods it was so good. They liked surprising people with appearances I think.

Like how taciturn Erynion was on the surface, and how deeply his joy could fill him. I thought I'd seen him at his happiest when we'd left that bath in Mirkwood pink, clean and swollen-lipped from all the kissing and more, but that was a wane joy compared to his laughter and his song. When I'd first met him I hadn't even thought he could crack a smile.

I chewed and swallowed, enjoying the texture but not really sure what the point of this was. "Is this special bread?" I asked Erynion, who sat down beside me. He'd redone his braids while I'd considered the taste, and he looked exactly like I hadn't just tumbled him ten minutes ago. I resolved to try and leave a hickey somewhere harder to hide. Elves healed freakishly fast, so most marks I left were gone within a day, but that wasn't for lack of trying.

I broke another chunk of the bread off, and this time remembered that he'd mentioned it had filling. Inside was a dark, oozy something that had about the same thickness as pudding. It was a blacker color than most chocolate and not wholly appetizing at first glance. Sticking that in my mouth changed my mind though: it was _almost_ as good as chocolate. _Almost_.

It didn't have the bitter tang of dark chocolate that I had loved so much, but it was certainly sweet with something not-cacao-y but still a bit like cacao about it. My chocolate craving wasn't quite satisfied, but it was like getting the ice cream and the smell of pickles. The fact that Erynion had probably gone through hoops to find something similar to what I'd described made the taste of this bread and pudding a little sweeter in my mouth.

Erynion was waiting for a response as I finished my first real bite. I took him in for just a second—put together, hair braided, expression studiously blank but the barest hint of anxiousness in his eyes—and felt my heart constrict a bit with love. I leaned over and beckoned him down to press a chaste kiss on his lips, lingering there for just a moment. Sometimes we didn't need the heat and passion that came in a hot, wet kiss to say what we wanted. Erynion had taught me that, and his smile told me he understood when I opened my eyes.

"It's not quite chocolate," I smiled, "but it's very close. Thank you." I rubbed a thumb across his knuckles, and we both just stared into each other's eyes for a moment. I wondered what he saw in mine, because there weren't the words in English to say what was in his. "Where did you get this?" I eventually asked.

"It's made by the Wood Elves," he replied, breaking eye contact and snagging a crumb from where it had fallen into my lap. His eyes were bright, pleased that he could help me. "Fortunately there are a few here and could make it."

I looked down at the marvel in my lap and then back to the miracle that was Erynion. "Thank you," I repeated, "But I'd take you over chocolate any day."

His lips quirked the slightest bit before he caught himself, and I knew he was remembering quite a few moments between Lothlórien and here.

"I should greet Lord Elladan and Elrohir properly," he finally said, ignoring my grip on his hand as he stood up.

I glanced down at the bread in my lap and thought that as much as I missed chocolate I would always crave Erynion more, even if I were surrounded in an ocean of caramels, ganache, and chocolate mousse.

Maybe it was his eerie Elvish senses, or maybe Erynion just knew me that well, but he clasped my downturned jaw in one hand and pressed his own lingering kiss to my mouth. Unspoken promises written in action not word; that defined Elvish romance.

"I will tell them of your desire for as little pain as possible."

"Right, and not a lot of moldy cheese or liver," I added, recalling what little I could about Jess' pregnancy. She'd been more concerned about BPA and household cleaning products though, which I couldn't relate to anymore. Unless the Elves did something weird with that soap they washed the sheets in.

I rubbed my nose in those sheets as I heard Erynion close the door behind him. Whatever, I had to indulge in something when Erynion wasn't around, and as good as the bread thing was it wasn't quite chocolate or Erynion.

* * *

There was something about looking down and being able to see only the tips of my toes when I leaned forward that made this somehow all realer than ever before.

I was a whale. I was less horny now but still craving chocolate and sushi with extra wasabi. Maybe chocolate and wasabi together. _Ceren_ bread worked sometimes, and after explaining how horseradish and mustard could be similar to wasabi, the Elvish cooks and I had embarked on a fascinating journey to discovering how the Japanese made wasabi. It filled the time at least.

But now, realizing this morning I couldn't see my feet unless I craned my head, I understood this wasn't just some ridiculous gimmick or one-off thing. I was having a baby. _Half-Elven_ baby. And I didn't know the first thing about parenting except to not drop it.

Erynion was sitting with his leggings rolled up to the knee and his bare feet dipped in the pool, skin a sunny pale gold in the morning rays. We'd been in Rivendell for months now as we waited out the pregnancy. It was 50/50 whether it would run as short as a human pregnancy or as long as an Elves'. I was banking on nine months, because I was at the eighth month mark or so I guessed, and I felt like I'd burst already.

Erynion turned and beckoned me with one hand out, and I waddled over—let's face it, I'm sure not even Elves are graceful with such distended stomachs. He carefully helped me sit on the rock beside him so I could dip my bare feet in the water, and then started to rub soothingly against my lower back, his first assumption always my discomfort. There was nothing comfortable about pregnancy, and I felt like most times I glowed about as much as dirt did.

We sat quietly watching the slow-moving river putter past, and as I watched a few darting fish slowly became visible. The spring air was warm, a breeze making the rushes and reeds on the far side dance and rustle. I wondered if this would be a good place to teach our child to swim. Could I even teach them to swim? How and when did you teach a child to swim?

 _God I'm gonna be a terrible mother_ , I thought unbidden. How did my mother do it? What if the baby had colic and cried all the time? Or what if they had a learning disorder, how did the Elves deal with that? Or what if I was too distant or too coddling? How would I address them being half-human and half-Elven? What if they didn't make any friends because of it?

"Hush," Erynion murmured even though I hadn't been speaking. He had a way of knowing when my mind was going faster than my tongue ever could. I shook my head though, because as uncomfortable and terrifying as the whole process of pregnancy could be, it had nothing on what would come after. Even I knew that.

"I wish I could talk to my mom," I admitted quietly, staring at the swell of my stomach because I couldn't see my feet. This was one of the few things Erynion could not hope to fix. My mother was lost to me, as good as dead.

His thumb gently swiped under my eye as though he expected tears, but I'd shed those long ago.

"You will be a good mother," he told me, turning my face to his, his blue eyes boring into me until finally I looked at him. "I would want no one else for my children."

"Good, because you're stuck with me," I said feeling choked up and hating it. Damn hormones. I was never getting pregnant again.

He hummed and leaned over to kiss me, and I made sure to hold him there an extra second just because I could. Without separating, his arm slipped further around me—harder to do now with my stomach in the way—and started to rub the upper muscles of my back. Soon the tightness melted away and I felt a little calmer, forehead against Erynion's shoulder. Erynion was here. He had a thousand years to, well, not perfect the art of fatherhood, but at least witness it more often than I.

"In my home, people read lots of books and talk to lots of women about how to raise the child," I started. "I don't have those here though. Elven children are different. When will they talk? When will they walk? Will they be unhappy because they will be different?"

I was starting to get worked up again, but instead of offering empty platitudes or too much logic I couldn't be comforted by, he started to sing. They were lullabies, he'd told me a few weeks ago when I'd felt some stomach pains and gotten very anxious about the state of the baby. (All had been well, and while it hadn't been explainable without an ultrasound or something, I was fairly sure my kidneys and other organs were being shoved around so that was probably it.) He hummed and sung bits of the lullaby quietly until all my muscles had turned to jelly and I didn't feel like crying again.

"I hate all these ups and downs," I muttered, and brushed my lips as thanks against Erynion's collar. The song slowed and eventually seemed to slide into the very wind. There were a few birds that seemed to have picked up a note or two and carried it away with them. I felt a bit sleepy, and that was the power of the song without words. No colicky baby would stand a chance if Erynion had sung it properly.

"Even the Elleths say it is not an easy task, though the reward is as if all the joy in the world is in your arms," Erynion reminded me. Arasinya had told me something similar. She had a son long ago, and she'd been very nostalgic when I'd asked her to tell me a bit about Elvish babies. Even Erynion had that same fond longing for when his brother had been a child with all the sweet delight and innocent wonder of childhood. "Ilúvatar did not make it easy, but that is why Elves work as one when children abound."

He'd said something to that effect before, that the depth between the couple was like a pillar, and that was why he stayed so close and so attentive to me. Pregnancy and children were revered in Elvish society, which made things sometimes terribly awkward—like all the watchful eyes—but also wonderful. Elladan and Elrohir were happy to bend over backward to help me, especially as the brothers had admitted they hoped to help Arwen through her own pregnancy someday.

I didn't have Mackenzie or my own mother to help me muddle through. I don't think I've missed them more strongly than when I was staring at my own reflection in the water and thinking how much they'd wish to be here to see this. But I had Erynion and Éowyn—who had sent the longest letter I'd ever gotten with a lot of helpful details from her own pregnancy—and overwhelming support from the Elvish community. Half-Elven didn't seem to matter to them, which I was eternally grateful for.

Erynion started to rock slowly when a few salty tears fell on his arm. "I'm sorry," I murmured choked up again, but he pressed a kiss to my hair and shook his head. I stopped crying almost as soon as I started when I jerked a bit in surprise. "Oh! I felt a kick!"

Erynion's face lit up into that perfect, wide smile, and he slid his palm down to touch my stomach. Sometimes the baby was quite active, but it was on and off. Nonetheless it never stopped being exciting when such visceral proof of life was right there. I felt another soft punch, and Erynion's gentle laugh as he felt it too.

"Sing that song!" I said suddenly, "the fun one! The one the baby likes."

Erynion sang a few lines of a small children's song in Elvish. I didn't know what it meant, but it had a bouncy rhythm and a few tongue twisters that inevitably ended up with my liver being socked by a tiny foot. Erynion smirked at whatever expression had crossed my face before turning his head to look behind me.

"The midday meal," he explained at my glance, and helped me up. I waved off the arm around my waist though because I wasn't _that_ heavy yet, but I did have to pause mid-step when the baby kicked again.

"Are you well, milady?" the Elleth who'd brought the news about lunch asked. She looked rather flighty, like she'd sprint to get one of the twins if I winced one more time. Erynion said something in Elvish to her that made her relax, and she smiled wide enough to show her teeth and bantered something back before turning to me. "I'm glad all is well. The chefs also wished me to tell you that they believe their _wasabi_ today might go well with the trout."

Then she slipped away almost as fast as she'd appeared, and I turned to Erynion. "What did you say to her?"

"That our child is active. She believes it is a mark of a son."

I rolled my eyes. I'd already heard a few things like that from others, like the Elves just couldn't contain themselves. Apparently in typical Elven pregnancies because of some mystical magic thing (I don't know what, Erynion couldn't explain it without resorting to Elvish) they could quite accurately predict the gender. But with human and apparently half-Elven pregnancies it was a lot harder. Elladan and Elrohir both thought the babe was a girl, and Erynion remained silent when I'd asked him. However the rest of the Elves seemed to have collected all the old wives' tales from Bree and were testing them out on me. If this were Gondor I would have almost expected a betting pool.

"I was told just yesterday I was carrying a girl because I wanted that sugary pastry."

"You have always wanted the sugary pastries," Erynion said instead of dignifying their guesses.

I threaded my arm further through his as we started walking, feeling like I might take a nap after lunch. My energy was starting to fail me in the middle of the day, which the twins said was a good sign, and I said was a frustrating one. "I will be much happier when the baby is born. At least for a few moments until I start losing sleep."

"Losing sleep?"

"Yes," I glanced up at him, and he was looking at me curiously and maybe a tad worriedly. "Babies sleep at odd hours because they need to eat a lot. Or something like that. Every parent in my homeland would complain good-naturedly but tiredly about waking up at night to crying to feed and soothe the baby."

Erynion was looking at me incredulously, meaning his eyebrows had crept up about three millimeters.

"Do Elven babies not do that?" I asked wide-eyed.

"Nay, they sleep long and eat often, but rarely do they cry. I have told you how they can walk and sing within a year."

"Really? Thank goodness," I said with obvious relief, slumping a little more into Erynion's arm. My own mother had told me many a story about how a four-hour nap was a victory when I was very small, and Mackenzie had been no better. Even half-Elven the child should be easier than an all-human infant then. Colicky baby? Not looking likely. And as Erynion had just reminded me, if they could walk within a year, you could surely teach them to swim not long after that and be okay.

Parenting would never be easy, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad, I thought to myself.


	19. Finally Someone Besides Éowyn Drinks with Maddie (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally someone besides Éowyn drinks with Maddie. And it's Boromir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Maddie sings is I Miss You by Blink-182. I realize I write a lot of fics about drinking, and I don't encourage heavy, frequent consumption in the least. Prompted by one reviewer, I want to make clear that Maddie is not an alcoholic. Alcoholism is a serious addiction that results in compulsive and uncontrolled drinking that destroys lives by trumping all other responsibilities like jobs & family. Maddie likes to get drunk every now and then, and it seems often because when I have a little drink in me (no, I'm not an alcoholic either because I like wine on weekends) it helps me to write silly or fluffy things, and the writer's block I'm suffering at the moment makes it a must. That said, this has exactly zero plot I just missed Boromir/Maddie.

Boromir looked annoyed and terribly grumpy when he returned home that night. He'd been locked in meetings all day—the risk of returning to Osgiliath while the reconstruction was underway. As I spent most of my day getting my hands dirty directly managing the labor, I avoided the unfortunate quarrelling about budgets and property rights he got stuck with.

"Some of those men should live in a tent for six months before thinking to chastise me for the troops," he growled as he stalked over to the fire. I slipped out of the reading room or whatever it was called to see him pour himself a drink of something like a Gondorian brandy.

"Lord Pisser?" I asked, using our nickname for one of the particularly annoying lords who insisted on bothering Boromir about everything. I wasn't sure if the man was just horribly indecisive or cunningly manipulative. I crossed the room and looked at the brandy speculatively. No, I couldn't drink that odious stuff like he could. Oh, for the days when tequila existed…

Boromir grumbled something into the fire and slung back most of the brandy in one gulp. That kind of bad day then. I headed over to the door and politely stuck my head out, catching the attention of the guard down the hall. "Pardon, but could a servant bring some cheese and wine here please? More wine than cheese, if you could."

Hopefully Stella would be in the kitchens. She had become a good friend of mine. Well, as much as a servant could be, given my unofficial Secret Fire title and now the addition of several new titles, including wife of the Prince of Ithilien. I don't call myself a princess because I believed I'd jinx myself into a poofy pink dress with balloon sleeves. These tailors were as bad as the ones in Minas Tirith who thought a flaming cloak was a good idea.

I encouraged Boromir out of his fur-lined cloak and boots while I waited for the wine and cheese. He offered me a small, apologetic smile. "These are the kind of men who would gladly send all but their sons to war and claim they won the victory themselves. I have no love of them."

"When the rich wage war it's the poor who die," I said, quoting somebody famous.

Boromir huffed good-naturedly. "You ought to write a book of sayings you spout them so often."

"I forget them as soon as they leave my mouth," I joked, but it wouldn't be a terribly bad idea. "Though I didn't make a single one up."

"Neither did many of the great men whose words we claim are theirs. Those words came from historians, playwrights, and bards." This talk was putting him in a better mood at least, so I was quite pleased when he threw back the last of his brandy and didn't pour himself another glass. Not at least until there was a knock on the door that _wasn't_ the wine and cheese.

"Milord Captain Boromir, there's an urgent request for your appearance at the late-meeting committee of—"

I shut the door in the lord's face before Boromir could even open his mouth.

"I'm quite sorry," I called through the heavy door, where I heard a muffled voice rising in volume, "but I must insist Lord Boromir be excused."

Boromir shot me a look that was mostly unpleasant—rumors would be flying around no doubt, something I was quite familiar with—but also a hint grateful. I smothered a laugh before a women's voice filtered outside followed by another knock.

This time when I opened the door there was Stella with a plate of cheese and a bottle of wine. She didn't even get to make a greeting though before the lord behind her started to say something angry.

"Milady, forgive me the intrusion but your lord husband—"

"Thank you Stella for the refreshment, and I'd rather not repeat myself," I said politely to the lord while letting Stella in. The guard started to clank his way down the hall towards the commotion. The soldiers were a lot more loyal to their Captain and General than to some random lord. "My husband's been quite busy all day as have I, and both of us would like to relax. Adjourning now might help clear heads too, and you can discuss all this tomorrow."

Behind the door I kicked Boromir in the shin so he wouldn't say something. I knew him well enough to know he was likely to go to the meeting out of duty, and I was having none of that.

"But milady!"

"Are we under attack? Has something exploded? Then it's not important enough to interrupt us this late at night. Good evening." I closed the door again and waited a half second to make sure nothing really _had_ exploded. When the guard started escorting him away I grinned slyly at Boromir.

"There are politer ways to do that," he admonished, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Didn't somebody say not to anger a wizard?" That rumor about me being related to the Maiar came in handy sometimes.

Boromir sighed, but he was looking more relieved by the second. He nodded to Stella before going into our bedroom to likely change out of his stiff outfit. Stella, I saw now, had set up a basic cheese plate with a few bits of cold meat and two glasses of wine. The one bottle she'd been holding had magically replicated into three.

"How did you hide them?" I asked her, because I seriously needed to teach Éowyn that trick. It was just the kind of thing that would impress her.

"Magic, milady," she said impishly. This is why I liked Stella. She followed all the rules about propriety and titles and such, but because I never scolded her for being bold or overstepping the line she'd loosened up enough for such liberties as joking around.

"Fine, keep your secrets. And thank you."

She curtsied with a smile and left almost as quickly as she came in. I was glad to see no sign of that irritating lord outside.

"Wine's here!"

"How could I miss three bottles?" Boromir said sarcastically as he stepped out, moving to tug the strings of his plain white shirt tight before I grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Don't bother." I winked.

"What is the occasion?" he asked casually, but lowered his hands. It left the shirt gaping a bit showing off a hint of chest hair and the curve of his collar. I laughed as I pretended to straighten the shirt but really just took a moment to tease him.

"You looked like you could relax, and I haven't had a proper drink since Éowyn was last here. Erynion watered down my wine when I wasn't looking at the last party."

"Sometimes he is more your father than your friend."

"He's certainly old enough to be." We both shared a laugh at that. I still had no idea how old Erynion was, but when Legolas had confirmed Thranduil was born _before_ Greenwood was established, I decided I really didn't want to know. If cheerful Legolas were as old as I imagined, how old was solemn Erynion?

Boromir and I took hardy sips from our glasses and he slumped back into his chair now that we were alone. All the formality and trial of the day sloughed off him in one great heave, and there was my warm husband underneath.

"I am thankful each day that Faramir and I sought to exchange positions," he finally said, when his shoulders had slumped back completely and I'd eyed his unmarked throat speculatively.

"Me too. I love Éowyn, but how she manages that flock of chickens they call court I will never understand. I much prefer the countryside." Boromir spent his time as one of the main Generals of Gondor's forces running around kicking orcs out of the kingdom and coordinating Mordor's clean-up. Normally a General's wife didn't go with him, but it afforded me the chance to still get out and travel while being useful. I'd rounded out my first-aid knowledge along the way, and I helped manage the local people while Boromir chased down orcs. It was a win-win.

Boromir nodded, not second-guessing my choice to follow him into the field. He'd grown very accepting of my so-called eccentricities, and he had no love of the courts of Minas Tirith either. Osgiliath was still a bare city in terms of the gentry, but what little they had was enough to annoy us both.

We talked a while more and wended our way through two glasses of wine each—and another brandy for Boromir—about work and friends and complaining about Lord Pisser and his associates, until I'd hardly realized the fire was dying into embers and I was starting to feel unpleasantly cool.

"It is a bit chilly, isn't it?" Boromir asked with a sly smile. No doubt my nipples were peaked enough that he could see it through the shift. I'd discarded my top dress at some point .Too bad I wasn't sitting on the couch, which could happily accommodate three—or two lying horizontal.

But Boromir didn't follow-up on the look, just went and stoked the fire, being a little slower and more careful as he did. That brandy was the good stuff—heady like expensive champagne, so it went straight to head. Two glasses of wine wasn't nearly enough to put me over, but Boromir resolutely filled my glass anyway.

"So it's that way, is it?" I commented as I watched him fill it within a centimeter of the top. I sipped carefully until it was a more manageable level. I licked my wine-reddened lips and appreciated how it had cherry-colored Boromir's too.

"You said it was high time for taking the edge off," he reminded me. And this time instead of taking a chair he took the couch and beckoned me over. I lazily stood and slid in beside him on the sofa, leaning heavily on Boromir. He wrapped his free arm around my waist and pulled me into a proper cuddle. No one did that better than Boromir.

"You know," I said conversationally, "it might be fun to take a turn about the para—para—the place with the watches walking around."

"Parapets?"

"Yes."

"No." Boromir leaned his head heavily on mine, as though by sheer presence he could stop me. By sheer weight he definitely could. "You are just drunk enough to pose such a poor idea."

"I've had hardly three glasses," I protested. "After all the ale and mead I've been drinking the past years this is nothing."

"And the Elvish wine?"

I harrumphed instead of answering. Before reuniting with Boromir I'd traveled a little more, and in the process had my share of Elvish wine. Erynion was exactly the kind of guardian to frown about that, but he wasn't perfect despite my initial belief about Elves and he couldn't always stop me. Some of my exploits had somehow found their way into Boromir's ear, so it was no wonder why the elf hadn't visited recently.

"Well some meager wine won't do me in."

"But brandy will?"

"Do you want to go outside?" I asked instead, but clearly the wine was working a little because I considered the brandy when normally I would have outright rejected it.

"Not in the least. But I would like to see you dance, and that takes a proper amount of cajoling."

Who would have thought that uptight Boromir with his stiff upper lip and formal training would be _encouraging_ me to get plastered? But that was exactly him really. He was a perfect gentleman, general, and diplomat when called upon. But behind closed-doors, when he let go and relaxed he was also a soldier, and they knew the value of a day-off with a hazy mind.

(I admit I may have been influential in the understanding of a "mental health day".)

"If you insist," I accepted as gracefully as possibly without upturning the whole wine glass on myself. I drained it to the dregs and accepted a finger of brandy in its stead. The stuff was terrible as I downed it, but the wonders of alcohol deadened the sensation.

I didn't end up dancing, but I did end up mangling a translation of a Disney song, and then trying to amend with "Country Roads" by John Denver.

"My father liked it," I admitted some time later, when I tried to explain that Shenandoah was a river, and that was the name, not me just drunkenly making something up. By this point I'd had another finger of brandy and half a glass of wine, so my argument wasn't going so well. I was sitting on the couch staring down at Boromir, who was leaning back against what amounted to a coffee table if they had coffee in Middle Earth. "Any long drive we went on he would listen to it. I've never even been to West Virginia!"

I stared off into space remembering sitting in our beat-up SUV that still had a cassette player it was so old, listening to terrible country music when we drove out to distant softball games in high school, and then when Dad would drive me to university for the semester. He always played that song, and I knew every word and warble.

"Come here," Boromir said, reading me like a book. He set down his glass with a jolt and pulled me down from the couch into his arms. He smelled like brandy, but beneath that he also smelled of windswept plains and pine, and that little hint of Middle Earth you'd never find anywhere else. I nosed my way into that gap in his shirt I'd left deliberately, and just breathed in the scent of his skin. Sure, I'd like to have another moment in the car with Dad, but if I had to give up all of Middle Earth for it I don't think I could. Maybe that was selfish, but hearing Boromir's heartbeat reminded me _this was real_ all over again. I wondered if that feeling would ever truly go away.

"I belong here you know," I said, echoing the lyrics. I'd chosen that long ago.

Boromir tilted me up for a proper kiss, and even though we both were a little sloppy and tasted like wine, it was still as good as every other kiss we'd shared.

"Now how about a Gondorian song!" I said as we pulled apart, needing something to brighten my mood.

"The only ones I can think of are for men in bars. Not fit for a lady's ears."

"And I've told you what I think of delicate ladies!" I retorted, leaning away from Boromir even though I couldn't go far when I was still in his lap. Nonetheless I'd made my point, since I'd certainly given him an earful the last time he'd thought to relegate me to "gentle lady". Hah. As if he could surprise me.

He has a good voice when he tries, but Boromir doesn't sing much. I'm not sure why, because I appreciate the deep tones he can reach and the way it rumbles in his chest. Especially when my head is pressed against it.

He sang a bit about a lusty barmaid and a patron who discovered she was actually some kind of fairy. I giggled at some of the ridiculous depictions of the patron's deeds to woo her. But he didn't woo her because she was a fairy who couldn't be entrapped by a man, so he got one night with her and then she was gone. It was a melancholy end that left me feeling odd. It reminded me of something strange… bizarre—something otherworldly in the literal sense.

"… _we can live like Jack and Sally if we want / where you can always find me / and we'll have Halloween on Christmas / and in the night we'll wish this never ends / we'll wish this never ends…"_

Boromir regarded me strangely as I stood up and stretched, still humming the rest of the melody. I remembered that song rather like a dream. Wasn't there something about eating spiders in it? When had that ever been acceptable to put in a song? What a strange world I'd come from.

"What does it mean?"

I translated the last bit for him at least, about how it we wished it wouldn't end in the dark of night. That satisfied him at least, while I contemplated strange lyrics and we moved from the living room into the bedroom. It took me a moment to shake off the peculiar mood recalling that song had left me in, but soon enough I knocked back the rest of my glass and held it out for a refill. Boromir had brought the wine. I knew there was a reason I married him.

"There is only half a bottle left," he said, pouring out a good half into my glass. I wouldn't put it past him to give himself a little more to spare me further pain tomorrow, but I was way past caring. "Cheers."

"Bottoms up!" I said, and didn't actually drink the whole thing in one gulp, but a solid two swallows later I'd thoroughly impressed myself. Didn't frat boys drink massive amounts of beer by restraining their gag reflex?

"Your thoughts are drifting," Boromir said warningly.

"If you're going to keep your clothes on then I have to distract myself somehow," I replied almost automatically, and it wasn't until Boromir moved to grab the bottom of his shirt that I quite realized what I'd said. And then it was on the floor and I could properly admire his slightly furred chest, toned into raw muscle from years of wearing armor and carrying shield and sword all over the country. He was crisscrossed with scars too, evidence where his armor had given way, and all of them beautiful.

I shrugged the sleeves of my dress down until it was barely held up by my bosom, and an indecently large view of the valley of my breasts was visible through the lacings. This would have been acceptable clothing where I came from, but to Boromir I'd basically just stripped to bra and panties. Sometimes I really held all the cards.

"Well are we going to cap this night off properly?" I asked lasciviously, and Boromir didn't disappoint. Down went the pants, off when my dress, and soon enough what had started as a quiet night ended as anything but.

Yeah, I'd definitely picked the best man.


	20. Baby Announcement (Plus 1 Part Two) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Not that I mean to discourage you from writing the next chapter, but we haven't seen anything from the pregnant!MaddiexErynion miniseries recently. Maybe you could show us Eowyn's reaction to the news. I'm sure she'd want to celebrate, and Maddie would have to deal with the temptation of wine everywhere, but she can't drink any.

Eowyn was bouncing her young son on one knee when the messenger arrived with a letter. He seemed a bit perplexed as he handed the thick parchment over. “I was instructed to inform you it arrives by the hand of the Elves,” he said formerly, bowing.

“Thank you,” Eowyn said, taking it from the plate and dismissing him. If it came from the Elves then it had to be from Maddie, but she wasn’t much of a letter writer. She much preferred to pass on news in person.

 _Dear Eowyn_ , it read.

_I am well in Lothlorien. The trees are simply magnificent and the Elves are very kind even if I don’t know what most of them are saying. I hope you can see the trees one day in the autumn when they turn gold and experience the hospitality of Elves. I’d tell you more about them but I have better news._

Maddie was always abrupt like that in writing. She didn’t use fancy turn of phrase or spend a page getting to the point like everyone else Eowyn wrote to. She appreciated that.

_I am pregnant! Is that how you spell it? Erynion says that’s right. I’m having a baby! I know by the time this reaches you I will probably be a ways along, but I need advice! I don’t know who to ask, and the Elves are all very kind but it’s been centuries for them and I could use my best friend._

Eowyn grinned, reading the last line. That was very Maddie. She loved Erynion with everything in her, and she’d grown to understand and love the Elves, but as she said in almost every letter to Eowyn (or in-person chat), they weren’t the same as talking to a mortal woman. Eowyn already knew about ten things she was going to write back.

_Erynion has been wonderful, and I think he’s more excited than he lets on as usual. We’ll be going to Rivendell tomorrow since Elrohir and Elladan (the twins, if you remember from Aragorn’s wedding) are good healers. We’ll be taking Thunor, though we have to leave Eirien since she is also pregnant. Ethiron is going to help with that birth, though she’ll have the foal long before I have my child. Erynion says I might go as long as a year like Elvish births. I can’t be pregnant for a year! I can’t have any wine then for a year either, which you know means Erynion is happy but I’m not.  
_

Maddie went on about life in general in Lothlorien, including the nosy Elves now that she was pregnant. Eowyn set her son down on the bed to play with his wooden toys while she penned a reply. All the womanly advice in the world couldn’t make a pregnancy go by faster or more smoothly, but at least Maddie would have someone.

_Dearest Maddie,_

_My most heartfelt and dearest congratulations for you. I wish upon you all the health and goodness of the world as you bear this child. Let Erynion help you to be comfortable and may you find all your cravings satisfied. But do warn him about…_

She wrote six pages. Six pages back and front of advice, stories, anecdotes, and tips from not just her own experience but from the numerous woman who had imposed themselves throughout her own pregnancy. It was no small matter, bearing the son of the Steward of Gondor, and Maddie had it no easier with an Elvish child.

“What are you working on?” Faramir asked sometime later, as Eowyn finished the last few lines of the letter. Normally she waited a few days to write back from a missive, but Maddie’s letter required all haste.

“Maddie is pregnant!” she said, turning in her chair excitedly. Faramir laid on the bed with their son crawling slowly up his chest to tangle sticky fingers in his beard.

“She is? That’s wonderful for her. Please pass on my and Boromir’s congratulations. He may move that trip to the Shire sooner in that knowledge.”

“I will,” Eowyn promised, adding in that short postscript and mentioning Boromir’s travel plans. He would write Maddie to let her know the details himself, but she’d appreciate the heads up. “I wonder if it will be a boy or girl?”

“I wonder if it even matters,” Faramir added. “Do Elves inherit along male lines? Do they inherit at all, given their lifespans?”

“Well I reminded her to bring the baby as soon as she can, so we can ask then,” Eowyn answered. A half-Elven baby! What would that be like?

“For now you’re own baby requires attention,” Faramir reminded, passing the squawking infant over. Eowyn loosened the ties on her robe to allow the child to feed.

“Do you think Boromir will finally settle down, now that all his close friends and family are?” she asked as their son settled into a rhythm.

“No,” Faramir said fondly, watching her with that same look on his face he’d worn when he’d first seen her do this. It was like he always thought it a marvel. “He may find someone one day, but I do not think children are likely. Not while there are still Orcs to kill.”

“Well perhaps he will be the… what did she call it? Godfather.”

“Godfather?”

“Yes, Maddie asked me at the end of her letter to be the Godmother of her child. In her culture it means someone who will care for the child should something happen to them or the Elves. Mostly I can just give special gifts on their birthday though.”

Faramir looked thoughtful. “Then we should find something appropriate for the birth. Do Elves have scrolls with pictures the way we have for young children?”

“I suppose I’ll write Maddie and ask,” Eowyn smiled, already thinking of how Maddie would appreciate the drawings of the original Gondorian fairy tales to show her child. Faramir smiled at her, warmly and kindly like he always did.

“Maddie will be a good mother, I imagine,” he commented, beckoning Eowyn further on to the bed.

“I agree. I only hope the pregnancy will go well. We should tell Lady Arwen, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes, but let’s wait until tomorrow,” Faramir answered, as Eowyn switched breasts and he looked on fondly. Eowyn knew that look. When they’re son was put to bed and the candles blown out, her and Faramir might be making a second child already. Maddie would understand and likely be very amused to arrive in Gondor with a young child and Eowyn pregnant with another.

“You know, we ought to plan a party for Maddie when she arrives. Congratulations on the babe and such,” Eowyn said thoughtfully as their son finished eating and started to fall asleep. Faramir tucked him into the crib in the corner of the room before crossing back to the bed with a very deliberate look on his face.

“That can also wait until tomorrow,” he said, and there were no more words after that except laughter and moans.


	21. Maddie Returns to Bree (+ Erynion) (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie Returns to Bree (+ Erynion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: On Tumblr I've written a number of short ficlets—1000 words or less. I've decided after seeing them pile up on my computer to put some together, clean them up, and post them here. Most of these are unrelated since they come from various prompts from my followers but I tried to group them if possible.

**(1) Erynion Muses**

Maddie may call Erynion a cat, but the elf rather thought she had more cat-like tendencies then he did. For one, she had claws and a seemingly random impulse to scratch people with them.

"W-Would that be two rooms, milady?" The innkeeper with his strangely-shaped beard, looked shocked and confused at the sight of an elf and a flame-cloaked woman.

"Just one, as I said. Erynion doesn't exactly sleep." She shot a look back at him, like a mild scratch mark from just one claw, reminding him that she was still annoyed about the whole "sleeping-with-eyes-open thing" as Maddie called it. Erynion deeply regretted letting Arasinya spill the beans on that one.

Maddie's gaze then transferred over his shoulder to one of their gawkers outside who had managed to get a prime spot at the window. Stories of her wielding fire were hugely exaggerated, but it might have been hard to tell that from the look on her face.

"Well of course then, yes." The innkeeper wiped the top of his balding head nervously as he led them up the creaky wooden stairs. Erynion took in the dilapidated but much-loved inn with a tiny hint of disdain. If he let it show Maddie really would scratch him.

"You wouldn't happen to be well, the same Miss Maddie that passed through these parts 'round three years ago?" The innkeeper asked gently, while a curious hobbit head poked out of a room behind them. At Erynion's casual look the little creature squeaked and hid again.

"Yes! You remember me now Butterbur? You were so helpful to me!" All signs of claws disappeared as Maddie gushingly thanked the proprietor until the poor man was flushed all around the ears. One moment irritated the next kind, Erynion thought to himself, among the many inexplicable traits of cats.

Butterbur let them be once they were at their room, but not without another uneasy look at Erynion and an awed one at Maddie. However the woman was already taking in their cozy accommodations, and Erynion politely closed the door on Butterbur. The elf did not look forward to leaving the room again, but it hadn't been his choice to come here at all. Maddie didn't follow suggestions well, and she'd been quite stuck on coming back this way.

"The bed is tiny and scratchy. You'll be on the roof all night like a cat, won't you?" she teased, turning back to him with her hands on her hips.

Fortunately for him, like most cats there were a few tricks a dedicated lover picked up to corral them. He stepped towards her and gently tucked a few wayward hairs behind her ear and thumb brushing past her jaw. Her eyes involuntarily closed and the tension she'd been trying to hide in her shoulders slipped away.

"You know I prefer living wood to dead," he murmured softly.

"You know I prefer when you don't manipulate me," she replied softly without opening her eyes, and Erynion didn't hide his smile at that. He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth, reminding her that he was here while she sought closure in these places she'd been.

The peace was short-lived though, because Maddie was nothing if not aware of how others viewed her, and the two of them in a small room together for long would make talk. She'd known Erynion would be visible on the roof all night since these enclosed inns were uncomfortable to him. He'd already metaphorically rubbed her fur the wrong way when he talked her into the fiery cloak she so loathed, but even Erynion hadn't known how many of the stories from the south had reached Bree. (As it turned out, many had, though it seemed Maddie had fought the fell-beast of the Ringwraith with one hand behind her back from how the rumors had been inflated on the trip north.)

"Don't they have something better to do?" she grumbled hours later as she and Erynion took dinner downstairs. They had the most secluded pocket of the pub, but that didn't stop her from sending withering looks at many who were too bold in their stares and talk. She'd definitely given a long gouging scratch to the waitress who had brought over their dinners. Erynion wouldn't smirk now lest Maddie rip into him, but as disgusted as he was by the blatant staring and suggestive look he'd received from the woman, he'd been doubly amused by Maddie's curt snap and the way she'd blown carefully on the candle between them to make it flare. That sent the girl off running and tongues wagging anew about her magic powers.

"I knew I didn't like Bree for a reason," she grumbled, swirling her dark bread in the leftover juices of the stringy meat. "I told Butterbur we're only staying one night."

"I heard." She rolled her eyes, her usual response to his "Elven superiority". He had always found it curious how she fixated on it, whilst all the Men he'd ever met had just accepted it as mere fact. More evidence her home laid far from his.

"At least we'll get to see Sam in the Shire soon—after not-Fornost that is. Do you think they'll have an inn or we'll have to camp?" Erynion had never been to the land of the hobbits, but he'd take a bed of grass and a fire with Maddie than the itchy patch of hay they called a mattress upstairs any day.

They finished dinner and Maddie's hand twitched like she might grab his before two giggling chambermaids distracted her. They headed upstairs, Maddie grumbling under her breath, and retired to their room. She hid a yawn behind her hand as she prodded the stiff pillow, and Erynion stifled a smile. If Maddie could sleep for fourteen hours a day like most cats she would, and he'd find her the perfect patch of sunshine.

**(2) Comeuppance**

Maddie blinked and did an actual double take when she saw two men with their heads together down the street. The clothing was different, the beards a little longer, but she knew those faces well from a few nightmares and more than enough reminders of the dangers of Middle Earth.

Erynion was looking in the same direction, and he turned to catch her eye with a question.

"It's nothing," she said, but her gaze was still locked on the two men down the street.

"Do you know them?" he asked quietly. The crowd swelled around them, giving the strangers, one in a red, flame-embroidered cloak and the other an Elf, a wide berth.

"I…" she hesitated, a look of fear crossing her face for just a moment. "I met them when I first came here."

Erynion's gaze narrowed as he looked at the two men again. He knew Maddie's story well she'd told it so many times, and he was familiar with the two characters who had taken advantage of her naïveté. She'd never given much detail, but it was obvious the incident had haunted her.

"Come on," she said, tugging on his fingers and drawing them back into the inn.

But that night while Maddie slept safely in their locked room, Erynion slipped back out onto the streets. The innkeeper had forgotten the two men's names, but the small hobbit worker had not, especially once word of the Lady of Secret Fire reached this far north. No one at that inn had quite forgotten Maddie, and certainly not her experience with Bromley and Hadley.

The town wasn't so large Erynion couldn't find them, the trained hunter that he was, and soon enough he had directions from a drunk towards a bar, and then a barmaid outside the backdoor who had been very startled to see him—and then quite helpful when he'd asked. "Give 'em hell," she whispered as he slipped away.

Bromley and Hadley were good friends and frequent proprietors of this pub, so it was only a matter of waiting for them to emerge. When they did, Erynion followed them to a quiet part of town to make sure they wouldn't be hurting anyone again.

"A bar fight?" Maddie repeated as Barliman set a heaping plate of breakfast in front of her.

"Aye, two men left out on the street. Purses cut and pants round their ankles! The womenfolk been jeering all day." He was in high spirits, but when Maddie went to ask more questions Erynion snatched a bit of toast off her plate, redirecting her attention to him.

Later though word would reach her ears of those two men in particular, when a washing women commented to her friend on the street what good riddance it was those two womanizers had been humiliated. When their names were bandied about, Maddie looked over her shoulder and gave Erynion a slightly squinted, deeply suspicious look. He made sure his face was schooled into a placid expression, watching the market attentively, and Erynion only looked back at her when he was sure she was no longer eyeing him.

And then she whipped her head around fast enough to make eye contact. "If you had anything to do with that don't tell me. I just hope they got what was coming."

Erynion maintained his innocent look, and then slipped the two money purses into Maddie's bag when she wasn't looking.


	22. Sweet Sorrow (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two ficlets propose that Maddie and Erynion had a daughter, and in some far off future, well, mortality strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Note: These two ficlets propose that Maddie and Erynion had a daughter, and in some far off future, well, mortality strikes. But there's enough sadness in the world already, so I wrote a happy ending.

**(1) Parting**

Erynion looked down at her—perfect, beautiful, and peacefully dreaming—and remembered a hundred times he'd looked down at Maddie to see her looking just the same. Their daughter even laid out in the same fashion, like she had three beds to herself and space was no concern.

He remembered a thousand times more how Maddie would stir, groggily at first, seeing without seeing the room, and then in some of her most unguarded moments, would spy him, and this sleepy smile would light her face. It would fade quickly as she awoke, but for a few precious moments Erynion knew just how much her lit up her day. And that in turn lit up his.

"Ada?"

Erynion stirred from the memories, not quite realizing how lost he'd become in them. Maddie was gone, as surely as the passing of the seasons. In their daughter she lived on, but some days it pained Erynion to see the familiar expressions cross her face, those same freckles decorating her cheeks.

"Ada? Is it _mommy_?" She inquired, using the term of endearment Maddie had taught her from her native tongue. Their daughter always referred to Maddie as _nana_ among company, but always _mommy_ in person. It was what she had called her until her last breath.

Erynion leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss upon her brow. Just as he had done the same for Maddie before they laid her beneath the earth. They both knew the significance of the action. It was a promise to Maddie to raise their daughter to the best of his ability, and a promise to their daughter to never let her mother be forgotten.

Their daughter looked down, her very shape the mirror of Maddie, her eyelashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks, the line of her nose just the same. Erynion could always see what traits his daughter shared with him, from the hair and the skin tone to her slender form. But sometimes Maddie peaked through, winking at him as playfully as she had, even when her age had drawn her deeper and deeper into melancholy.

"I see her too," she said.

Maddie had said, "Mourn, don't wallow." Erynion was doing the wrong thing now, but as the years past and their daughter grew past majority and almost to full adulthood, he found it harder and harder not to linger in the memories of the past. This was fading for the Elves, he knew well. A slow and graceful end, but not one pleasant for those watching as the other was consumed in grief and memories, eventually unable to be drawn out. Consumed in memories of Maddie.

"Ada…"

"I am well," he assured her, echoing a confidence he'd felt once. One day it would not be true. But not yet.

**(2) Reunion**

Maddie stood on the dock watching the silvery boat sail closer and closer, moving so slowly it was almost painful. It might not be his boat, he might not be on any boat in fact, but every time a ship drew close to shore she and the many Elves who waited also came to the docks. Each time some met loved ones long past and others like her were forced to swallow their disappointment and renew their patience.

But this time, something was different; it was almost tangible in the air. She thought if only she could draw a deep enough breath she'd smell that soap Erynion preferred and the scent of the trees of Lothlórien he'd always came home smelling like after a day wandering through them. Today she could sense those aromas on the tip of her tongue, and she watched the incoming ship eagerly.

Docking was arduous, especially when no familiar faces stood on the deck, but Maddie held her hands to her chest like she was clasping Erynion's in anticipation and tried to slow her breathing. It would just be more disappointing if he weren't on it, and each time it got harder.

One by one Elves descended. They were Lothlórien Elves, that much was obvious by their clothing, but Maddie swallowed her excitement at the familiar colors. Elves from all the realms came in waves, she reminded herself, so there was no guarantee. No guarantee at all until…

The angle of that golden head, the set of those shoulders… was it…?

He descended the ramp and walked onto the main dock, and Maddie had no doubt at all as she saw those blue eyes calmly take in the waiting crowds, the shoreline, and the exquisite buildings of the port. There was no one else who quite stood that way, whose eyes were quite that shade of blue and hair that gold.

Beside him stood a girl, a young woman by appearance but still young and lively in Elven years, who shared those same blue eyes but had one feature definitely unique among Elves: freckles.

Maddie was running before she knew it, bursting from the crowd sprinting full tilt for Erynion and their daughter.

Her Ellon turned his head in time to catch her in his arms, spinning her round twice in exuberance before he could bear to set her down.

"My beloved Maddie!" he cried, his smile so wide it might very well split his face, and the joy that filled him so strong it lit the very air around them.

It didn't quite seem real that Erynion was here before her, and she said the first thing that came to her mouth. "What took you so long? I've been waiting an age it's seemed!" She was looking at him with such fierce longing it stole his breath away.

Erynion opened his mouth to respond, but there were no words for his joy at seeing her again. Somehow it was possible to feel his heart ache anew with love when Maddie's gaze transferred to the Elleth beside him.

"And look at you!" She escaped his arms to hold their daughter, who was now taller than her. "You're an adult now and you look as beautiful as your father, and, and…" She looked back at Erynion, who was watching the mother and daughter like he was seeing them for the first time, both of their faces glowing with happiness. And then Maddie's crumpled and she burst into tears.

Erynion gathered her in his arms before she fell while their daughter tried desperately to soothe her mother. Maddie clutched him to her and cried out all the ages of waiting, the unbearable fear he would not come, the worries and fears for their daughter.

"Mommy," their daughter murmured, and when Maddie looked up, her precious daughter had streaks of tears down her face too. Maddie pulled their daughter into the embrace, creating an awkward three-way hug that somehow completed them. Erynion would have given away the world to do as he did now, and press his lips to Maddie's hair again while holding his daughter. He could feel the tears Maddie shed against his tunic as well as she could feel the tears he shed as he pressed his cheek to her hair.

"I love you both so much," Maddie whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. " _Le melin, I love you,_ I love you," she repeated in Elvish, her own tongue, and Westron. Then she kissed their daughter lovingly on the cheek, beholding her properly for the first time in decades, and then kissed Erynion properly on the mouth, savoring the taste of his lips after years without. The taste of their tears intermingled with the kiss, but Erynion wouldn't have it any other way.

"You've finally come," she said.

"We've finally arrived," Erynion replied.


	23. Living it up in Gondor (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really short glimpses of life in Minas Tirith—all are Boromir/Maddie.

**(1) Ghost Stories**

"Ghosts aren't real," Maddie said dismissively, but Éowyn steamrolled on.

"He was standing in the hallway bloodied by battle. Hair matted on one side, his arm missing, and he _howled_ at me as though the pain were still as fresh as the wound!"

Maddie rolled her eyes at Éowyn's melodramatic retelling, but she had most everyone else enthralled.

"What did he do then?" Pippin asked eagerly. "Did he chase you down the hall?"

"Well I turned right round and ran before he could! Can you imagine! Being grabbed by a ghost! But I thought I felt for an instant an ice cold hand pass through my arm, as though he'd reached for me." A collective shudder ran through the group and Maddie had to visibly stop herself from snorting.

"Do your people not have tales like this?" Boromir asked quietly from where he stood in the corridor watching Éowyn spin the yarn.

"We do, but they're a lot scarier and few believe them."

"Scarier how?" he asked curiously.

"If you've ever heard a nursery rhyme sung by an undead child on the ceiling you'd understand." Maddie didn't know the word for disturbing, but Boromir's expression matched it perfectly.

"What twisted madness is that?"

"Ghost stories."

"Then an apparition has never come to you?" he questioned.

"No."

"They prefer the dark hours, so perhaps you simply haven't wandered at the right spots. Many of the watchmen tell stories of midnight hauntings on the ballistae."

"I have other things to keep me in bed at those hours," Maddie said with a wink, which made Boromir cough uncomfortably, but not without a little pride. He was, after all, what was keeping her so occupied in the twilight hours.

**(2) Language Barriers**

"No, lettuce alone should be fine," I told the kitchen servant. I had no idea what else they planned to add to this salad, but it had enough stuff in it by the looks of it. These dinner parties were so fancy.

"Pardon, milady?"

"Lettuce is fine."

"…Milady?"

"Lettuce alone, thank you," Boromir interrupted, looking to be in good humor for some reason. I smiled at him just because as the servant tucked all the various dishes away. The samples had looked rather delicious, but alas, we couldn't eat them since we'd be having them all tomorrow for dinner. Stupid dinner parties.

"Lettuce," Boromir said suddenly, grinning widely at me.

"Yes, that's usually the basis for salad."

"What's the basis for salad?" he asked, and I stared at him confused.

"Lettuce."

"Pardon?"

"Lettuce!" I snapped. "What are you laughing about?"

But Boromir snorted again instead of any coherent answer and just shook his head. He managed some horsey-sounded mispronunciation of the word amidst chortles, but I couldn't be sure.

"Let-tus," I said more clearly, over stressing it, but he just kept laughing. "It's not funny!"

"I fear no amount of training in our tongue could quite bend yours to match," he managed as his laughter ebbed.

"Hilarious. Perhaps I should teach you how to say 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' and laugh," I muttered to myself.

**(3) Superstitions**

"You have to hang the chicken over your doorway, head down, so the baby will be born facing the right way," the midwife insisted.

"I'm not hanging a dead chicken outside my house!"

"But it's for luck, milady! Head-firsts births are much easier on the mother."

"I think you ought to do it," Boromir warned from beside me. Maddie was outraged though and turned on him.

"It's superstitious! And unsanitary! Do you know what kind of flies it will draw? And other insects!"

"We do not want to tempt fate," he said more firmly, but Maddie was at the high point of a mood swing and on a roll.

"Fleas brought the Black Plague to Europe you know! That would definitely be bad for the pregnancy. Not to mention dead chickens also have nothing to do with the potential for a breach birth. The child moves around a lot before finally settling in the birth position before labor!" she rattled off.

"It's for luck," Boromir said exasperated. "I only wish the best for our child."

Maddie appreciated his desire for the best for their child, but she didn't approve of his perfectly unsound medical advice. Herbs were one thing; dead chickens were another.

"Well you can nail a horseshoe over the bed if you'd like," she acquiesced, stomping away before he could ask about the relevance of a horseshoe.


	24. Maddie/Erynion Misc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are more ficlets written some time ago featuring Maddie/Erynion. In a bid to get my head in the game I've been rereading these ones and really thought I should upload them finally. The last one is connected to Dorwinion Dancing's sequels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are more ficlets written some time ago featuring Maddie/Erynion. In a bid to get my head in the game I've been rereading these ones and really thought I should upload them finally. The last one is connected to Dorwinion Dancing's sequels.

**(1) Biffles Ethiron & Maddie**

"No, no, the _left_ branch."

"That is the left branch!" I yelled down.

"The higher left branch!" Ethiron called back to me. I had to crane my neck to see what he was talking about.

"I can't reach that!" What did he think I was, an Elf?

"You're almost there!"

I reached for it even though I was pretty sure my arm was not that long, but maybe those birthday parties when I was nine at the rock climbing gym had done me some favors. I stretched on my toes and managed to hook a hand around it, and then with a strong yank I got both my arms around the branch and pulled myself higher.

"Now look out!" Ethiron yelled up to me. I rolled on to the thick branch—though not quite thick enough to stand on comfortably—and scooted to the end. Through a break in the trees I could see the golden hued leaves of Lothlórien rolling down a hill towards the Anduin, and then past it a haze of dark green. Surely that wasn't Mirkwood like Ethiron had claimed.

"That's not Mirkwood!" I hollered back. I couldn't be that high that I could possibly see it from Lothlórien. Middle Earth is round, I was pretty damn sure. No planet was _flat_.

"It 'tis!" he yelled back.

"It can't be!" I shouted back, but then I waited for his response and none came. I chanced a glance down the dizzying distance to see two blond heads below instead of one. Oops.

"Erynion!" I called, waving a hand like somehow he couldn't spot my new blue dress (now thoroughly broken in) in the tree. "What's the best way down?"

I couldn't see his expression, but I was pretty sure I could guess it. Ethiron looked to be sitting on the ground, which probably meant his big brother had been scolding him.

"Ethiron, are you okay?" I called back down, and I could practically feel the scathing look Erynion shot him. Erynion was totally rolling his eyes at Ethiron. I just knew it.

"He rolled his eyes at you when he realized I was up in the tree, didn't he?" I confirmed twenty minutes later when I was safely two feet on the ground and Erynion had my hand firmly gripped in his. Ethiron did not have that support though, and was looking a bit unsteady.

"Yes, so hard I could see the whites of his eyes."

I glanced at Erynion, who didn't respond to either comment.

"I bet the view from the roof of our talan is awesome," I said conversationally, only to be cut off within moments.

"No, and do not think I would let you do it."

"What's keeping me inside?" I asked slyly, then laughed outright when Ethiron made a disgusted noise. He shouldn't have gotten me drunk if he didn't want to hear my outrageous flirting with his brother. Maybe this is what Erynion had warned him about.

**(2) Cell Phone**

He was turning over my ancient phone in his hands when I entered our talan, staring at the shape in fascination.

"I forgot about that."

"What is it?"

"You wouldn't understand," I said honestly. Most concepts I tried to explain, even if they were strange and bizarre (sound moves slower than light), but the cell phone would be way beyond what Erynion could comprehend. It would be like explaining the internet to Isaac Newton. The basic knowledge just wasn't there.

"Try," he urged.

"It's… hm… you know the signal towers of Gondor? How lighting a beacon sends a message across hundreds of leagues in an hour?" Erynion nodded. "Well, this allows you to talk to someone far away through floating signal towers. Instantly."

Years ago, Erynion might have instinctively said satellites and instant distance communication were impossible, but by now the things I'd described to him had proved dreams could be reality.

"That must be very useful," he finally said, looking at the bottom of the phone with interest, where the charger would have plugged in.

"It's only useful if another person has one too, and if it still worked."

I took the phone from him and consciously pressed the power button. It had been so long since I'd touched the plastic and silicone device that it felt as unwieldy in my hands as it looked in Erynion's.

To my surprise, for just a second the screen flickered, the empty battery symbol flashing, and Erynion twitched a bit when he saw it.

"What was that?"

The screen was already black again, and I felt my heart return to its regular rhythm. That had probably depleted the tiny bit of energy left in the thing. Would it decompose? Weren't batteries acidic or something?

"The last bit of lightning in it." The word electricity hadn't caught on.

"It created a picture without drawing."

"Yeah, telling me there is no lightning in it." The battery symbol meant nothing to him of course.

"Is there no way to return the lightning to it?" Erynion asked quietly, and I realized I'd been contemplating the dead phone silently.

"No, and there's no point. I don't need it anymore." I set it aside more easily than I imagined. The phone represented so much of my past life: the addiction to Facebook, my connection to my whole social network, modern technology, the stressful calendar alerts… None of that existed here. I'd let all of that go a long time ago, somewhere on the road between Bree and Gondor and back.

Erynion took the phone carefully from me and put it back at the bottom of the sack where he'd found it. It was my old travel bag, much worn, still with the tattered remains of my jeans and white t-shirt in it too. I thought about burying them, but it might be nice to show to our children one day. It would only be a symbolic act of what was already truth: I'd buried my homeland many a year ago.

**(3) Pregnant Lady Coming Through!**

I wandered down to the river to collect a little water to boil for dinner. A very kind Elf who had worked with Erynion at some point had gifted us some northern fish (Erynion told me later it was a bit of a delicacy because those fish were hard to catch or something), and Erynion wanted to steam them properly.

Of course I should have realized that any attempt to carry a bucket of water up to the talan was going to end with at least three Elves helping me.

I was only barely beginning to show—thank goodness for empire-waist dresses because I was at the awkward bump stage—but it was like some switch had gone off in every Elf's mind within a ten-mile vicinity. Not only did I get plenty of congratulations, even in Westron from Elves I knew didn't speak it, but a hundred watchful eyes and a dozen helpful hands too.

"Lady Maddie?" said a soft voice, and lo and behold there was elf number one. She wore a tunic and soft silver leggings, and had clearly realized where I was heading with a bucket.

"I can do it," I said, because I wasn't infirm, goodness. When I was about to go into labor I'd appreciate the help, but of course this elf didn't speak Westron and ignored my tone.

She walked with me to the riverside, where another elf had already appeared. He wore a bluish-grey cloak and had already gathered a handful of root vegetables and a few herbs. He offered them to me wordlessly as the Elleth gracefully slipped the bucket from my hand and kneeled to fill it. The exchange happened so smoothly I didn't quite realize I was holding a pile of potatoes, onions and rosemary until the Elleth had already filled the bucket.

I had their silent company all the way back to the steps of the talan where an unnecessary amount of people were loitering nearby. Erynion had warned me the Elves got excited about children, but it had been Ethiron who had been clearer about the meaning of "excited". It was more like the Elves were eagerly curious and overly devoted to a smooth pregnancy—doubly so because a half-Elven child complicated things.

The roof vegetables were whisked out of my hands, and then I was trailed up the stairs—in case I tripped or something—all the way to the talan doorway, where the Elleth set the bucket down in the outdoor cooking area and the Ellon left the vegetables on the table Erynion was sitting at. Then they departed almost as quickly as they'd appeared.

"You knew sending me for water would bring ten Elves back," I said disgruntled.

"They wish to help." He started to strip the rosemary of its leaves for later use, looking perfectly calm even though I knew he pretending not to look smug. I had a feeling he'd been considering what vegetables to add to the dish and had let the other Elves decide. Sneaky sneaky.

I grumbled, but I couldn't exactly complain because I knew where the Elves were coming from. I went out to the balcony of the talan and casually glanced down to see more than a few golden heads surreptitiously gathered around the nearby trees. Several glanced up and I sighed before smiling down. Erynion had said it would get worse as I drew nearer to term, but I bet those Elves would be there for the next twenty years as the child grew up.

**(4) Feminist!Maddie**

"Would you care for a turn about the garden?" asked XYZ courtier for the nth time. I'd been at so many of these dinners I knew the gardens so well I might as well pitch a tent out there and call it my home. But I saw the looks of the group of women tittering around me, and knew perfectly well refusing would have some dire social consequence I couldn't fathom now. Gondorian balls were like Mean Girls: Medieval Edition sometimes.

I took his arm reluctantly and trailed him outside, catching Erynion's eye on my way out. He didn't save me, but there was certainly a flicker of the desire to in his eyes. I gave him my best resigned look and tried to at least feign interest in the courtier. Looking at him in profile his chin receded so much it almost looked like part of his neck, which entertained me through most of the introductory pomp and circumstance.

In the garden we promenaded, him making light chatter about meaningless stuff like an upcoming genealogy book of the ancient kings by some writer and what my opinion was on circular windows versus square ones, while I tried to answer politely but also make clear I was bored out of my mind. Passive aggressive was the modus operandi for the court, but this gentleman was determined to plow right through it.

"I did have a desire to ask something of you," he prompted when we'd come full circle and exited the garden. "A woman of your merit and intelligence could surely see the wisdom in my proposal." My heart sunk at his phrasing. I could see the light of the ballroom, and never had it looked more tempting in all my life. _Please let a gossip save me from him_ , I thought for the first time in my life. I'd never been so bored on a garden tour ever before, and the ending was looking bad.

"I understand if there has been more than one offer, but as the heir to the silver guild and a high noble of considerable family, it is not outside my ability to offer you…" he made a long-winded speech about his lofty background and fortunes as I expected and that I mostly tuned out until the startling end: "…so I offer you my hand, and may we join my prestige and rank with your grand power and honor, and bless generations to follow with both. It would be my pleasure to provide you with leisure and jewels if you should but gift us with sons. And if your magic could be put to practical means regarding the silver trade, I would be most honored to have you accompany me in my work, for no greater honor does a wife have than to provide her husband with sons and uphold his family name."

I gaped, genuinely open-mouthed, at this guy, as he continued on at some length about a woman's place in the family and how utterly sycophantic she should be to her husband who held all the reins. This was the most audacious and insulting marriage proposal I'd ever gotten. Others I'd been able to turn away easily and forgotten them before long, but this guy had cheek. He implied if I chanted a spell for a son and turned lead into gold he'd wrap me in jewels and leave me alone to die knitting pearls into my dresses or whatever the other high ladies did.

"What have you to offer besides money? Why must I work for you like a slave?" I demanded, cutting him off perhaps a bit shrilly. A few heads on the balcony and patio turned, but really, a marriage proposal after that opening? And following up with that declaration of spousal obedience?

"I have a summer home in—"

"No, no, what have you to offer yourself? Would you work to make half of this marriage work? Are you kind? Good? Selfless? Do you even love me?"

Now it was his turn to gape open-mouthed at me. I suppose most of these questions had never crossed his mind when it came to finding a wife; I pitied the woman who married him because it certainly wasn't going to be me.

"I will grant you, marriages are often done for business rather than pleasure, but a woman is a not a thing to be carted off! She isn't a slave you buy and control. I'm not property or a trophy to be shined and shown-off the way you would a fancy outfit or a new necklace. You can offer me money and a fancy title, but what about growth in a marriage? What about love? What does your rank mean anything at all except that your father was someone important? What have you ever done worthy of my respect, let alone my love? What is your name even, because I certainly don't know!"

Lord whats-his-face was utterly flabbergasted as I threw that at him. Perhaps it was the drink or maybe the company, but these simpering men politely waving their rank and money in my face like that somehow made them superior were getting to me. The women were no better, fawning over these men and dreaming of the perfect match rather than going out and making their own matches.

"What is this about marriage?" Boromir asked dangerously, appearing in the doorway. He looked to be in a particularly black mood since all the light came from inside, leaving him in shadow. The lord who I'd taken a stroll with went a shade whiter at the sight. Likely he'd been expected to ask my hand through a male relative or caregiver, and apparently Boromir was it.

"If you're going to propose at least do it right!" I snorted at the guy, who shrunk back stunned. "And don't mix asking for a servant into it too. Especially one who might light you on fire with a blink." I hitched up my skirt with a huff and nodded to Boromir as I stormed by. He was eyeing the silver guild heir unpleasantly.

"I don't believe you've endeared yourself to any of the men here," Éowyn said as I entered the main ballroom. Most every eye was on me since my outburst had been anything but quiet. The majority of the women looked shocked and confused, but I noticed a few older women who looked at me a bit more approvingly. When you've been stuck in an arranged marriage as long as they have, they probably knew what was up.

"I don't need to endear myself to any of the men here." I glanced at Erynion in the corner of my eye, and decided to hell with secrecy. We'd only been secretive out of desire for privacy, but I'd just shot that to hell. "In fact, I don't need to endear myself to any Man. Erynion, let's adjourn to my room and take a glass in peace. At least somebody knows money and servitude doesn't win me over."

Erynion, bless him, took his cue smoothly and offered me his arm. People parted for us as we passed, and I did my best to look as elegantly aloof as possible, holding my chin high. No woman could look at Erynion and say I didn't get the better end of the deal than Mister No-chin out there getting the full brunt of Boromir's outrage. Good thing Boromir had caught on to Erynion and I several weeks ago.

**(5) "Let Me" Sequel Gimli POV**

"Where's that lass gotten off to?" Gimli demanded of Legolas two days after he'd sufficiently recovered from a roaring hangover. The last thing he'd remembered was dumb Elvish music and Maddie stumbling for a chair. He supposed she must be suffering as he had been unlike those confounded Elves, but it had been long enough already. He'd only seen Erynion on the odd occasion, always a little off, that one.

"Erynion is entertaining her," Legolas said with a distinct smirk.

"And what does he know of the Woodland Realm?" snorted Gimli. He couldn't stand to be surrounded by Elves constantly and their ridiculous architecture. He'd been banking on the human woman acting as some kind of buffer or at the least a reminder that not everyone was so namby-pamby.

"As much as any Lothlórien Elf," Legolas said, still sounding like he wanted to laugh outright. "But he is not showing her this land."

Gimli turned his scowl on to Legolas. The elf only succumbed to laughter, earning him a dark look from the passing king, who did not approve of Legolas' consorting with Dwarves. Gimli had a few choice words for the king he might have shared if not for some background in diplomacy that had been foisted on him as a child.

"I've seen the elf but not her."

"As have a few, though he has notably been…" Legolas trailed off, and glanced at his father. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at them both, though his look was significantly cooler to Gimli. Gimli huffed in response, not forgetting the indecencies treated upon his father. "I do not know how the dwarves would speak of this, but Lady Maddie and Erynion are indisposed… together." Legolas grinned again at Gimli's flabbergasted expression.

"The lass and—"

"Indeed. They have traveled afar together, and even Father did not disapprove too much. She was not shocked at the _lelâlharn_ _I showed her_ _,_ which bespeaks wisdom in many things, and rumors precede her."

"She denies all," Gimli said grumpily. No wonder the two times he'd seen Erynion the elf had been slightly less poncy than was usual for an Elf. Great, she was probably so taken with the Elves she wouldn't even want to see the majesty of Erebor. Oh how she would be missing out…

"I will inquire as to their plans," Legolas said obligingly, somehow reading what Gimli was thinking. The dwarf scowled for good measure again at the elf, because that was becoming a habit.

"Do that. And in the meantime find me a drink. A real one, mind you."

"And I will send them one as well," send Legolas thoughtfully. "Perhaps Dorwinion."


	25. Missing Thoughts/Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request on Tumblr for alternate POV of Trahern's first meeting with Maddie and the missing moment when Faramir goes looking for Maddie and she's already left Minas Tirith. So here are those ficlets for your pleasure.

**(1) Trahern's First Meeting**

Trahern hadn't known quite what to expect when Butterbur asked him for a quiet word, let alone that a strange woman speaking no known language had wandered into town.

He probably should have expected someone as unremarkable as her at first glance. This… Miss Maddie looked like a nervous maid and not some worldly traveler.

"This is the woman you spoke to me of?" Trahern confirmed. The innkeeper was no doubt wringing his hands behind his back. Butterbur normally had no problem with Rangers in his establishment, but actually conversing with one was another story.

"Y-Yes, this is her," Butterbur answered.

Trahern took her in, from her shabby shoes and second-hand dress to his plaited hair. She didn't look very different, though perhaps a tad cleaner than most of the women in Bree.

"Don't speak any Westron, do you?" he said to her.

She didn't appear to understand, and that was certainly made obvious by her stumbling reply.

"I— Maddie," she amended, as though unsure. "I don't speak Westron." She smiled proudly at her completed sentence.

The accent and unfamiliarity was undeniable unless she was an excellent actor, so Trahern switched to Rohirric and then Hobbitish just to be sure she wasn't an overgrown halfling. If men could birth people who only grew as tall as hobbits, then it might work in reverse. Trahern had seen stranger things.

She didn't understand either though, and just offhand Trahern tried a bit of the Elvish he knew.

There was no response immediately, but maybe she'd been surprised.

"Are you familiar with Elvish, then?" Trahern asked in Sindarin.

It took her a moment to shake her head. Elvish might surprise some people at first, but Trahern hardly had the voice for it, what with years of smoking pipes. He sat back and filled his pipe, thinking about all the obscure tongues he'd heard and wondering just how far away she might have come from.

So he rattled them off: some tribal dialects of Westron, a hint of the Harad language he'd learned, even bits of Dwarvish and Quenya. But there was no light in her eye to show understanding, and each one made her look more and more despondent.

He paused to wonder just _where_ she must have come from to be so removed from all the tongues of Men, Elves and Dwarves, but she took that as her invitation to try her own hand.

And so many languages she knew it seemed! None of the words she uttered were even remotely familiar, rolling off the tongue in different ways, some spoken boldly others shyly, but she knew them all and tried each to no success. Trahern had never heard _any_ of these tongues, and he'd seen much of the word in his many years as Dúnedain. Where in Middle Earth was she from?

"Um, sir, any luck?" Butterbur asked tentatively.

Trahern paused before answering. "No, but I will keep an ear out."

It took but a moment for the Ranger to firmly commit her appearance to memory. Clearly she wasn't what she seemed, as it looked like even Butterbur had deduced.

**(2) Faramir Visits the Kinseys**

The visitor at first seemed like any ordinary messenger, at least until the name "Maddie" passed his lips. Then Oriolda stopped pretending to listen with half an ear for gossip and instead devoted both ears to it.

"I have a message for Miss Maddie," the messenger said to the butler expectantly.

"Miss Maddie is no longer here."

"The message is from Lord Faramir," the messenger replied, probably hoping that would ease the way. No one wanted to go hunting down missing girls in their spare time.

Lord Kinsey stepped into the foyer before the butler could reply. "A message from Lord Faramir?" A few months ago this would have been met with excitement. Now, Lord Kinsey looked rather like he was dreading it.

"For a Miss Maddie in your service, sir," explained the messenger. He was starting to sound annoyed.

"Ah," Lord Kinsey said, and Oriolda was fairly sure he was sweating in place. "Miss Maddie is no longer employed here. That is—" he said hurriedly, realizing how that sounded, "she willfully left."

The messenger left the household after that, but neither Oriolda nor Clarimond thought that was the end of it. And if the Kinseys looked a bit stressed every time someone knocked on the door, they knew why.

So it was inevitable that their fears would come to pass. Someone knocked on the door this time, but it wasn't a soldier or a messenger or some young lord looking to play with one of the children, it was Lord Faramir himself.

Lord Kinsey showed him into the parlor, with Everlid doling out tea dutifully and everyone pretending that the servants weren't trying to find the best eavesdropping spot.

"My lord Faramir, what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to speak with Miss Maddie, but my messenger told me she no longer works here." Faramir didn't ask the question, but his statement was quite leading.

"Ah, yes, Miss Maddie decided to leave of her own accord. We of course asked her to stay, but she was insistent." Lord Kinsey sounded terribly nervous through the door, and Lady Kinsey outside looked distraught.

"I apologize for the intrusion then," Lord Faramir said, and Lord Kinsey began to make the requisite denials before Faramir interrupted him: "That is, I should like to speak to your staff regarding Miss Maddie."

The silence was weighty with shock, but Kinsey could hardly deny the Steward's son, and so the servants were brought into the sitting room to be questioned. When Oriolda's turn came around she didn't bother to hide much at all—it was too exciting being face to face with such a high-ranked lord. And a handsome one too!

"My lord," she said, bowing deeply. "Maddie and I were good friends."

"Did she ever speak of her homeland with you, or perhaps anything out of the ordinary?"

"She spoke of Rohan rarely," Oriolda admitted, feeling disappointed she couldn't help Faramir's search. "And nothing particularly strange."

"Why did she leave? I ask you to be honest; I will protect you from any reprisal." Faramir was looking at her so seriously Oriolda became quite flustered, and it took several moments for her to calm down enough to answer.

"Well… she was angry with us. I think… milord… there were rumors…" Faramir didn't react much beyond waving his hand to continue. "She snapped at us, and told us… well… that she was upset by what some of the servants had said." Oriolda was so deeply engrossed in fidgeting with her skirt she didn't see Faramir's narrowed look. He knew Maddie had mentioned some troubles at work, and but a few rumors had sent her running?

"What rumors?"

"Ah… that she and your Lordship… consorted." Oriolda said the last word in a whisper, as though hoping Faramir somehow might not hear it. Her face was so red she could have been mistaken for a tomato.

"And this angered her terribly?" Faramir asked, remarkably calm about the accusation, though his brow was furrowed.

"Yes milord, very much." The household had talked of nothing but Maddie's sudden departure and fit of anger. Oriolda and Clarimond had trouble grasping what she'd been so upset about, and what little they did disturbed them.

The rest of the servant's interviews went much the same. The whole household was talking about it for weeks after, when Lord Faramir left looking ruffled, even as he tried not to. Lord Kinsey wrung his hands for days after terrified some lightning bolt from the Stewardship would strike him down for daring to remove Faramir's interest from his home. Lady Kinsey, in fact, grew sickly for several weeks following the incident.

Of course, that didn't compare to finding out that a certain Lady of the Secret Fire was also known as the Lady Maddie, and had saved the life of the current Steward and Lord Faramir's brother. Lady Kinsey had fainted dead away at the news, and Lord Kinsey had frantically interrogated every servant about whether they'd known a sorcerer had been hiding in their midst. Needless to say, the whole household was lucky to be alive and intact after angering so powerful a witch.


	26. Bacteria (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I would pay any amount of money for anything HwtF related at this point. Seriously you don't understand how starved I am!!! 100 words of Maddie making small talk at Eowyn's wedding. 200 words of her lying in bed with Erynion talking about nothing. 50 words of her teaching Merry and Pippin apple-on-a-stick. Literally anything!!!!! Pleeeeeeease

"Why does heating water make it safe?"

Maddie, who was currently laying face-down on the bed after a grueling day of hiking all over Minas Tirith in the summer heat, was way too tired for this.

"Bacteria."

There was no response, but the fingers tracing invisible lines on her back paused.

"Little wiggly invisible things in the water that make people sick. Heat kills them."

Maddie was quite sure Erynion didn’t believe her, but after a moment he went back to tracing patterns and she tried to remember what snow felt like. It was really hot in Gondor’s summer.

"How do you know they are there, if they are invisible?" Erynion asked after some time. Maddie was lightly dozing at this point and was irritated he was interrupting her nap.

"Magic."

"You claim to have no magic," he said immediately, and she groaned loudly into the pillow.

"It’s really science using powerful microscopes and computers to observe cells and viruses to study the spread of disease. But since you don’t understand any of that, it’s magic."

Erynion went back to connecting the freckles on her back and Maddie went to sleep.


	27. Destroying and Lighting Pumpkins on Fire (for kicks) (Faramir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: So I know Halloween is way over, but the i had a funny thought. I cant help but imagine Maddie getting homesick around that time of year and deciding to carve a pumpkin to remind her of home, thus confusing everyone else who just sees a girl carving faces into pumpkins and then setting the inside on fire.

Most everyone in Minas Tirith had long accepted Maddie was a bit odd. She never conformed to the unspoken rules of womanhood by doing things like wearing pants, riding astride, and interrupting men in mid-conversation. But this was pushing the boundaries of downright strange.

The servants started the gossiping. Maddie had gone to the gardens one fall day and picked the plumpest, biggest, roundest orange pumpkin they had, and demanded a carving knife—a big one. Everyone thought it was a strange ritual the witch was doing and didn’t argue, but considering what she’d done with it? Well, everyone was thinking more along the lines of black magic now.

She’d spent all morning cleaning out the inside of the pumpkin, giving the mess to the cook for a pie before setting to task with the knife. Painstakingly she cut into the front of the pumpkin, forming a hideous face of razor sharp teeth, a triangular nose, and menacing eyes. To make it worse, she stuck a candle inside to lick the edges of those marks, lighting the evil expression from within.

And then she put it on the steps to her front door.

* * *

“The servants are talking,” Faramir said as he walked in after a long day being the steward, shrugging off his cloak and slipping off his boots. “Something about possessed vegetables?”

“What?” Maddie asked, having been writing in her journal. She turned in her seat and accepted a short kiss from Faramir. He touched her cheek affectionately.

“They say you are doing spells with that pumpkin outside.”

“Oh that?” she asked, laughing. Faramir’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “It’s not magic. Not really. It’s a jack-o-lantern.”

“A… jack-a-ladder?”

“Jack-o-lantern,” she said slowly, letting him repeat it. “It’s a pumpkin carved to show a scary face. It’s to frighten spirits away on Halloween. Remember I told you about that autumn holiday?”

Faramir took her hand and pulled her over to the bookcase where he kept Maddie’s journals and notes. He’d asked her to write as much about her world as possible, but he knew she kept most of the details to herself. Some things though, like holidays, festivals, and some famous historical people, she wrote about. Halloween was one of those things.

“This one,” he said, skimming his fingers over the bindings as he pulled one down. He loved rereading the strange things she wrote, so he knew them all well.

In her messy handwriting, frequently full of misspellings, Maddie detailed the basics of the holiday. It was the one night the spirits of the dead could return to the living world, and to ward them off children wore masks and families put carved pumpkins outside. They gave out candy to the costumed children to appease the ghosts, and decorated their houses in orange and black.

It was all very strange as Faramir read it, but he also found it fascinating. The dead returning to life was not a thing he had ever considered. It was not something Gondorians ever pondered. But Maddie did. Her culture had a number of traditions about just that.

“It is Halloween today?” Faramir asked, settling on the sofa with her. Maddie curled up into him and pillowed her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other idly flipping past other holidays like Christmas and Valentine’s Day—he particularly liked that one.

“No, but it’s in late fall, before the first snowfall usually. I just… I saw the pumpkins in the kitchen garden and I wanted to make one. My family used to do it every Halloween.”

She looked a bit embarrassed, and Faramir kissed her on the forehead and she smiled up at him shyly. “I would never laugh at one of your traditions. You find mine very strange sometimes too.”

“Who insists on hanging dead chickens upside down outside pregnant ladies homes?” Maddie giggled.

Faramir of course defended the tradition, claiming it had been proven to help the mother’s chances with an easy birth, but Maddie insisted on evidence based on numbers, which he didn’t quite understand but was quickly fascinated by.

So much so that he never did tell her that others in Gondor wanted her to remove the evil pumpkin from their doorstep and stop doing black magic. He forgot all about that until the next day when he accepted commoners in audience to bring their grievances and a man arrived to represent a number of women on the sixth level.

“Milord, the womenfolk insist,” the man said nervously, dabbing at his sweaty brow.

“It is not an omen of evil. It is to _ward off_ evil,” Faramir explained, managing to sound much more knowledgeable than he was. Maddie had been vague about what kind of evil spirits or how the warding worked. Or really why the warding was necessary. She’d been rather… distracting.

"Ward off, sir?”

“Yes. To protect the home, the… _jack-o-lantern_ frightens them away. The flame inside them is necessary to light them in the dark, when the spirits are at their strongest.”

"Spirits, milord?” the man repeated, sounding faint. He looked about to pass out.

“The spirits of the dead who have been cruel in the life.” This was also something Maddie had to explain to Faramir. He knew the basics—some people in her world believed after death the evil were punished. But how did they return to the land of the living? What determined an evil soul from a good one? He would ask her later.

Meanwhile, the messenger had turned as white as a spirit might if Maddie’s description were accurate. “I will tell them, milord,” he said and scurried off.

When Faramir returned home to Maddie,she eagerly told him about how she’d spent the day instructing the womenfolk in how to make jack-o-lanterns, and now the whole city was alight with eerily lit pumpkins grinning from doorsteps, balconies, and windows. She had also guaranteed none of those women would sleep tonight with her scary stories, but Faramir insisted on hearing and analyzing them. And that’s how they fell asleep, discussing how a headless man could see from the crook of his arm as he rode a horse.


	28. Home from War (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'm not sure if you're still taking requests but I thought I'd add this to the pile :) Inspired by where HwtF left off I suddenly desperately want to see something in the Studies in Frustration universe where a (pre-romance) Erynion leaves for the Black Gate and returns, probably scratched up, to Maddie who has been tearing her hair out with worry and realisation of how much she is afraid of him dying. Then they have a passionate (and preferably public) reunion and everything is lovely <3 <3

I’m a little bit of a crybaby, but Erynion was going to _war._ That was the best excuse in the world to freak out, tear up, and then end up mumbling something when he actually said goodbye. I didn’t handle his parting very well, but bless Erynion for having the sensitivity of an angel for exactly one minute and not saying anything, even if that was like a miracle that happened at the exact moment a strike of lightning hit the same man for a fourth time in a row while he was fighting a shark.

He’d left without a promise to come back, but simply: “I am very skilled, and I will have my kin with me.”

Right. Because that would make him impervious to arrows and swords. I wished he’d gone for the fake comfort instead of the honest truth—not that he’d ever done that before.

Erynion had gone to fight because the world was ending, his people were on the line, and he had fought or at least been alive during the last war (which was apparently 3000 years ago or something so he was _old,_ which explained some things). All good reasons, but it didn’t really help my coping. I was stuck in Minas Tirith with all the womenfolk fretting like a bunch of hens because no one had let us use a sword. I was convinced the army was missing out on some valuable members after seeing the female butchers at work yesterday. Before throwing up that is.

“He will come back, I am sure of it,” Eowyn said with all the fake comfort Erynion didn’t have. She too was worried though, given her boyfriend and brother were out there fighting. We’d been waiting nearly a week for their return, interrogating messengers whenever they showed up.

“Yeah, he will,” I said, slowly splitting my split ends like I did as a kid until my mother very nearly beat it out of me. Clearly she didn’t completely erase the nervous habit. “Erynion is hard to kill. He has killed a lot of orcs.”

“Yes, and he has many years of experience,” Eowyn added, shooting me a sly look. Unfortunately my brain got stuck on the three millennia part of his age, and I had to get up and pace.

“I’m sure Eomer and Faramir will return,” I said more surely, because so long as things went according to the book they would. Of course, Boromir wasn’t an arrow-cushion anymore, so maybe that changed things. Shit, what if that created a ripple effect killing Erynion?

“Maddie, look! Banners!” Eowyn jumped out of her seat to point, but I didn’t even bother looking. I flew down the stairs, tripped and bruised my ribs crashing into a stone wall, and then nearly tumbled down another two flights before stumbling into the 5th level courtyard. And then I raced down more slopes and stairs to get to the 1st level as fast as possible. For once in my life I didn’t want to murder Erynion for his subtle pushing and smirks when I got winded while we hiked around Arda. His brand of “encouragement” meant I could damn well near jog the entire length of Minas Tirith (downhill).

I actually beat the messenger bringing news of the banners down, amazingly, before realizing I was going to have to wait awhile because armies don’t move fast, and the view from the top of Minas Tirith shows things miles away. Good, that meant I could catch my breath so Erynion didn’t know I’d sprinted down to see him. Assuming I saw him at all—the thought proved that it’s very hard to choke and pant at the same time.

The waiting took forever, and I discovered why nail biting was such a popular habit (and then bit myself because I was constantly scanning the horizon and not paying attention). When the men began to become distinct from just a blob of dirty colors, I was joined by approximately everyone in Minas Tirith, waving and cheering, women crying, babies screaming, and those women butchers with bloodstained aprons who seriously should have gone with the army in the first place.

At the front of the line was Boromir and Faramir, both looking beaten up, armor dented, and grossly covered in gore, but grinning madly. I waved furiously at Boromir who didn’t see me, and Eowyn miraculously didn’t tear a hole in the crowd like a troll to tackle Faramir. She and the other dignitaries who had stayed behind politely waited on a town square platform, but she hugged Faramir fiercely when he finally reached her.

The rest of the Men came in waves, and soon the crowds were pushed back further into the city. I stayed up on the ramparts looking for blondes. I saw the Rohirrim, including Eomer who galloped into the city and crushed his sister in what had to be the happiest, sweatiest, dirtiest hug ever. Bless Elves for being dirt repellent, I thought, imagining Erynion’s face if I just spontaneously hugged him.

It took an agonizing amount of time before a guard came up to me with a message from Boromir—the Elves were out on the plains outside the walls getting ready to return home. I scanned the horizon again, but those silly Elves had to be wearing their helmets because all the army was just faceless from here.

“I’m going out there then!” I declared, pushing past the surprised messenger. Thunor was stabled on the 6th level of course, so I borrowed a random horse (there were plenty standing around that riders had abandoned to hug their wives) and galloped out the gates.

As I got closer I saw that the Elves were behind some more random Men, hidden by the dust clouds from the horses and their own slightly grimy armor (compared to the Men’s dirt-caked armor). Some Elves on the outskirts though were talking to a mixture of Men, including Gandalf and Aragorn. There were a few women out here too who had apparently run here to find their families. I spotted one of the butchers ecstatically hugging a man who had as much blood on himself as she did on herself.

I dismounted as I drew close to Gandalf, and he turned with a beaming smile to me. “Ah, Miss Maddie. You are perhaps here to see Erynion?” He turned slightly and there behind him was Erynion, looking a little worse for wear and with a smear of blood on his neck, but otherwise pretty good for having picked a fight with a few hundred thousand orcs.

I laughed and threw myself at him, and he caught me because Elves have good reflexes and I think he was expecting my spontaneos hug. “You made it! You came back!” I cried. He actually twirled me before stroking down my hair, and I wasn’t sure if he was inspecting the damage I’d done to it or if the near-death experience had knocked something loose. “Did you shoot Sauron in the eye? Did you have any idea how worried I was?”

Some of the happiness in his expression morphed into something more grave, which was not what I intended at all. “I apologize,” he said remorsefully. He was staring at me with an intensity I didn’t normally see unless there were orcs about to attack us.

“It’s fine. No wait, it’s not. Don’t pick fights like this, it’s bad for both our hearts,” I joked, not that he’d really get the heart joke.

Or well… I suppose the joke could be misconstrued, because he started to smile, and it wasn’t the brief, ecstatic, I’m-alive-and-we-won smile he’d had on for three milliseconds when I hugged him. This one was way happier on a deeper level, and as I thought that I also realized we were still embracing and just staring at each other.

And then we were kissing, and I’m pretty sure there were cheers and inappropriate comments (on second thought, we were surrounded by Elves, so no), and I remember in between the tingles and haze of kissing Erynion that I finally got to touch his hair, and even though he hadn’t bathed in heaven knows how long, and he’d been fighting with it loose, it was still silky which was completely amazing.

I vowed to find out what it would feel like after he’d washed it and let it dry, preferably if I helped. I had a feeling from how neither of us could quite separate from the other, that he wouldn’t mind.


	29. Alternate Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate take on Maddie’s first travels in Middle Earth. This takes place somewhere between Leurbost and Rivendell and not long before Bilbo’s 111th birthday party.

I couldn’t believe how far this forest went on. Leurbost was days behind me but it felt like I’d been marching for years, and I’d be marching for a dozen more at the rate I was going. Why hadn’t I taken up jogging when my coworker joined that running group? Why hadn’t I ever taken a wilderness survival course or even paid attention in girl scouts?

I was so busy beating myself up over my former sedentary life that I jumped a foot in the air when I heard a loud BANG and then what was likely a curse in Westron.

“Hello?” I shouted immediately, before realizing it might have been a gun that had gone off–no wait, they didn’t have the technology for guns unless I was back home. What could have made that noise then? “Hello?”

No one answered, but I was quite sure the noise had gone off on my left, so I stumbled and climbed up the short but steep hillock through the bramble to find at the crest that the far side of the hill dipped into a beautifully hidden green carpet of grass and a big tree with low-hanging branches. Beside it was a wagon and a grazing horse, and under that shady tree was an old man with a long white beard wearing all grey, his pointy blue hat askew.

“Hello?” I called again. “Grey man?” What was the word for old? Butterbur had taught it to me…

He looked up at me, then back down to the long, rounded stick he was fiddling with disinterestedly. I jogged down the hill and slowly approached him, wondering if I was mad to talk to a random stranger I’d met off the road, or if I hadn’t just lucked out. It had been getting lonely after a little more than a week of no one to talk to.

“Hello? I am Maddie.”

He waved his hand at me and said something I couldn’t understand. He seemed to be screwing the top on to the long, hollow stick in his hand, and not knowing what to do I watched him fumble with it before something connected and it stuck.

“There we go. Now, you said you are Maddie, yes?” I stared at him uncomprehendingly. His eyes were startlingly wise, even for a man of his age, and it pinned me for a moment. “Well, what in Middle Earth is a young woman doing out here?”

I was pretty sure he’d said my name, but the rest was lost to me. “I speak no Westron,” I said instead.

“No Westron?” His bushy eyebrows went up, one disappearing entirely under the brim of his hat. The edge was scorched a bit from the explosion, though I couldn’t see what caused it. “Hm, and where are you from?”

“Where?” I repeated. “Bree.”

He looked skeptical, but I wasn’t sure why except that maybe he hadn’t asked me where I’d come from at all. “Going where?” I asked him.

“I’m off to the Shire. That’s out West,” he said more slowly, but I still hadn’t caught anything understandable. “And you?”

“Me going? Home.”

“Where is home?”

“America.” I crossed my fingers behind my back that this mad old man might know something. Alas, he furrowed those brows, looked at the wooden tube in his hand, and stood up with more agility than I expected.

“I have never heard of that place. Is it far?” he asked, stooping to look down at me a little harder. I got the feeling he wanted to tell if I was lying.

“Far?” I asked stupidly.

“Long walk,” he supplied. He relaxed back a bit on to his knobbly staff that had a strange crystal in the top. Pointy hat. Staff and crystal. Long robes. Long beard.

Dwarfism was a real condition. Tiny, fat little adults were… well, strange, but not impossible But magic wasn’t real. Surely not, I thought to myself. But I wasn’t so sure actually, because hadn’t I been at my apartment that night, with a bag of fruit and plans to watch Netflix? And then hadn’t I suddenly appeared in a field of grass in a world that was way bigger than I could have imagined?

“Very long,” I said quietly, watching him add the hollow tube to a whole stack of them under the blanket in the wagon. Many had bright colors painted on them, some shaped with wings or designs. Were they staffs also? Were there whole communities of these wizard-like men? Did he sell these?

“What?” I pointed at one, moving to poke it except he batted my hand away and snapped at me unintelligibly. When I just looked confused he used his staff to draw a picture in the dirt of a line going up and up and then BOOM in the sky. Fireworks!

“I understand!” I said delighted, and he actually smiled under all that hair. So that’s what the bang sound was. Apparently they had fireworks in this world. And men dressed like wizards sold them. “Sell these?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he said cheerfully. “For a birthday party.”

“Birthday party?” I asked, but he ignored me and settled his wizard staff in the front seat of the wagon and whistled to the horse.

He said something to me as he pulled the horse around, but I didn’t understand any of it until he said, “Tell me about America.”

“America? It is home. Big. Mountains and water,” I said, realizing how limited my vocabulary was again. My description was going to be useless. “I don’t know here. Very long far,” I added uncertainly.

“This is Middle Earth. Also called Arda.”

I shrugged. Neither of those names were familiar to me.

“Hmmm….” he said, giving me a good look over. He seemed to be judging me as I stood there in my tattered dress, scuffed shoes, and loose bag. I didn’t make a very remarkable sight, but I hoped I looked pathetic enough to give a lift to. “Yes well, I could use more paper for decorating these, and perhaps someone to carve that big one into a dragon shape. Bilbo would appreciate that,” he muttered to himself, while I looked on blankly.

“Perhaps you had best come with me to the Elves then,” he said more loudly.

“What?”

“Come with me. To the Elves,” he said more slowly with extra enunciation.

He didn’t seem so terrifying, maybe a little dotty, but I found myself trustingly getting into the wagon nonetheless. Something about the blue eyes that studied me so curiously. Even if he was a crackpot wizard or just dressed like one, I felt better traveling with someone else who might be able to help me. Maybe this place called Elves would have answers.


	30. The Shire (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt, just me missing Middle Earth.

I wasn’t sure who was more excited for the Shire: me or Boromir. The land of hobbits had been built up in my head for a long time—a place of peace, prosperity, grass greener than any other, and fat little hobbits running around—what wasn’t to love? But to Boromir it was not only all of that; it was where there were the four hobbits of the Fellowship who he hadn’t seen in nearly five years, it was good, clean earth, simple lives, and more hobbits than he could imagine.

And Boromir never admitted it, but I knew he had a soft spot for hobbits.

We were barely big enough to fit into the Green Dragon Inn, but Pippin insisted we squeeze, and once we were in and seated, Boromir and I were beset by hobbits offering food and drink, and wouldn’t we like to try this homemade meal?–and wasn’t this the best barley bread he’d ever had–and had we passed through Bree, because those hobbits didn’t know hospitality like hobbits in Hobbiton! I loved every second of it.

“Boromir, I don’t know if we can eat all of this!” I told him not ten minutes after we’d arrived. Our table had become cluttered with dishes and bowls, some stacked on top of each other, sauces oozing over the sides, gravies sloshing in their cups, the odd leafy vegetable or edge of rib poking out from under a pile. It all smelled so amazingly of marinated meat, sauteed vegetables, familiar spices, and all the comforts of a hobbit-cooked meal. I could hardly believe this was all for us, but hobbits had a big appetite, and Merry reminded us that hobbits thought since we Big Folk had bigger stomachs, we could eat just as much. He was very optimistic, in my opinion.

We ate. And ate. And then watched Pippin, Merry, and Sam clean their plates and go for fourths while Frodo seemed content after thirds. Boromir and I had only one bite of each thing before we were too full, and Merry laughed when the hobbits around us realized that just because we were almost twice their size didn’t mean we had twice their capacity for food.

“Is this all we have of the beef?” Pippin was saying to Merry as Boromir and I teetered when we stood after the meal, little hobbit hands helping us to stay upright lest we crush them.

“I think I have a food baby,” I joked.

Boromir took a second before his head whipped around. “What?!”

“ _Food_ baby,” I stressed, patting his arm. He relaxed, and we were led to a large shed that someone had stuck a hand-painted sign outside that said “Big Folk’s Home”. It had clearly been made up just before our arrival, but the inside was a cozy little place, complete with tiny little mismatched carpets covering the floor, the largest dining room table in Hobbiton most likely, and three beds pushed together to make one for us. Hobbits definitely knew hospitality.

“It’s lovely,” I told Sam sincerely as I collapsed on the bed. He fretted that I was on top of the covers and still had on my shoes, but I was already half asleep as it were. Boromir promised to help me get situated and then he promptly collapsed and we both slept.

—

“Is every meal really like this?” I begged of Frodo at the third meal we’d had in Hobbiton—on the second day no less, because breakfast, lunch, and dinner were big meals, followed by a dozen snacks in between. Boromir and I were constantly stuffed. This feast (it was never just a meal, let’s be honest) was in the field below Bag End, where Bilbo’s famous party had been. Most of the Baggins, Gamgees, and a fair few Tooks and Brandybucks were there begging for stories from the Fellowship and war (but only the funny, family-friendly ones).

“You’re guests, and hobbits never leave a guest hungry,” Frodo explained, pouring more cranberries on to his pork. I stared forlornly at his food, feeling my stomach give an ominous burble at the thought of more.

“About a third of this would have been fine,” I said weakly, but Frodo wasn’t listening anymore, focused on his food. Ever a hobbit.

Boromir had finished eating too, and after the first night of storytelling the hobbit children had warmed up to him immensely when he’d proven to be a big softy. They clambered all over him like he was an Ent, begging him to pick them up, touching his beard and sitting three on his lap just because they could.

I watched him play with them fondly, just taking in the scene of the meal, the kept gardens beyond us, the round, green door of Bag End, the entire atmosphere of the evening, and felt a little overwhelmed.

I slipped away from the table then and wandered far enough away that the voices from the table faded into the background and I could hear the buzz of insects, feel the sun heat my skin, and smell the freshly cut leaves of a bush someone was trimming nearby.

If there was any place in Middle Earth that was most famous, in my mind, it was the Shire. I stood on the outskirts of the party grounds, the big tree Bilbo had given his farewell at not far from me, and tried to remember if I’d ever felt so content in my life.

Even beyond the main meal here, there were hobbits scurrying about: one was herding a sheep as big as he was, and another was sweeping the doorstep to their smial. I watched them all go about their lives, eating and gossiping at the table, doing chores outside the home, and then beyond to the rolling hills of the Shire, and had to breathe deeply of air that not even Tolkien could have imagined was so clean and fresh.

“Are you alright?” Boromir asked some time around the fourth or fifth deep breath, arm slipping around my waist. His hair was tangled from a dozen children’s fingers, and he’d loosened his belt one notch after that feast they called lunch.

“I’m wonderful,” I admitted, wearing a silly smiling. Middle Earth was home. The Shire was… everything I’d imagined as a kid. Just like the Elves. Just like the Dwarven kingdoms. Just like the Men.

“It is a magical land,” he murmured. “I think there is more magic here than the Elves—a subtler kind. I much prefer it.” He kissed the top of my head, staring out across the expanse of grass, gardens, hobbit holes, and curly heads.

“I like the Elves, but the Shire is special,” I agreed, leaning into him a little. I tried to memorize this feeling because in two weeks we’d be on our way to Rivendell, and then south to Gondor, and our lives would march onward. But for a moment it was paused, just like reading a book.


	31. Cavities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I really want to see Maddie have a dental problem (cavities maybe?) but she's too terrified of medieval medicine/dentistry to tell anyone. Or alternatively, she's sick and reacts the same way.

I stared down at the steak pitifully, feeling the ugly throbbing in my mouth grow just a tiny bit stronger at the promise of painful chewing. Boromir next to me dragged his cut of steak through the gravy and happily popped it into his mouth, totally ignorant to my problem, just as I wanted.

I carefully cut a sliver of the meat, wrapped it in mashed potatoes, and tried to solely chew with one side of my mouth to lessen any aggravation. It was gonna be a long night.

“That demarcation line isn’t going to remain if the forces are not shored up. Already attacks are beginning…” Boromir was saying to Faramir and Eomer. Aragorn was talking with Prince Imrahil about the same border dispute, and the hobbits were absorbed in their food. Eowyn rolled her eyes at me as I ate a tiny bit of the mashed potatoes and silently begged my steak to slowly disappear on its own. Maybe if I cut off small pieces and snuck them on to Boromir’s plate when he wasn’t looking…

I had ten blessed minutes of careful eating and avoiding Erynion’s eyes and Eowyn’s chatter, before the people in the room who valued food the most finally noticed.

“Hey, you goin’ to eat that?” Pippin asked around a mouthful of third helpings, pointing with his fork to my almost entirely uneaten steak. I almost bit my tongue from a combination of horror and the ongoing pain in my left gum.

“Uh… no,” I admitted, and Pippin gleefully took my portion. Eowyn leaned forward to ask me a question about, and I stuffed a pile of potatoes in my mouth to avoid answering. Total mistake—some of them got into the painful side of my mouth and what had been throbbing before felt more like a war wound. I must have winced because Erynion gaze went from mildly curious to deadly in a breath.

“I’m going to go. Please excuse me, my uh, stomach…” Eowyn nodded sympathetically, Boromir looked startled at my standing but told me to rest, and Merry happily stole the rest of the food off my plate. Faramir and Erynion were looking at me suspiciously as I stole away.

 _It’s just a toothache_ , I thought, aggravated, stubbornly refusing to go to my room because I just knew one of those guys was going to be there. _If I just keep swirling with salt water it’ll be fine._

So I was kind of in denial that my tooth had been bothering me for several weeks now. But I’d heard about Washington’s wooden teeth and seen the kind of pliers they used to pull bad teeth here, and the anesthetic they used wasn’t nearly as good as the modern stuff. There was no way in hell or Middle Earth I was letting any medieval dentist near my mouth.

That kind of conviction can be surprisingly strong when one is enduring searing gum pain. Faramir was at my door when I finally went back to my room, and he didn’t look amused when I kept brushing off his concerns.

“It’s barely even a twinge. I know how to treat it myself, Faramir.”

“Nonsense, there are healers who are very good at this sort of thing. If you treat it early on it won’t even have to be removed.”

“Well it’s too early for even treating it with a healer,” I argued, feeling a lot more than twinges with every movement of my jaw. Like hell I was telling him that though.

“Allow a healer to look at least. Even the twin Elves if you prefer.”

“That’s even more unnecessary,” I protested. While I trusted Elves slightly more with healing than humans, Elladan and Elrohir would probably tell Erynion, and then I’d get to suffer his disappointed face while getting a tooth yanked out by beings that probably didn’t have cavities to begin with.

I managed to get Faramir to leave without physically shoving him out the door, and while it took me a little longer to fall asleep that night, at least I had all my teeth.

Morning though meant Erynion had no respect for decent hours to be awake, so when I’d barely stumbled down to the kitchen for breakfast he was bright-eyed and waiting for me.

“Morning,” I muttered, sitting down. He handed me a stone cup and I drank the tea automatically. The taste of cold mint hit me and my tooth went from small migraine level to arrow-through-the-arm again. I actually shouted as I dumped cold tea all over myself and my hand flew up to cup my cheek.

Erynion, the stupid elf, somehow hadn’t been caught in the splash. He didn’t say a word as the maids fussed over me, but when they started to lead me back to my rooms to change he somehow snaked an arm through mine and redirected me. We were halfway to the healing halls before I dug my heels in enough to stop him.

“I’m alright, Erynion!”

“Your mouth is paining you and has for some time.” His face was slowly morphing into that disappointed look.

“In my home we have many remedies for my problem, and they take time. It’s healing now.” I was getting good at lying, I thought, but then remembered—Elves. Can’t lie to them.

He began to walk again, and this time didn’t let me slow him down. “Erynion! I’m serious! No one is going near my mouth with anything because this isn’t clean and—”

“Your mouth is paining you?” Boromir said, coming around a corner with two soldiers on his heels. He stopped dead in the hallway to frown at me. “Faramir said you were ill.”

“I am not ill,” I retorted, because a toothache was not illness, damnit.

“See a healer regardless,” he ordered, frowning at me so that a tiny pit of guilt formed in my stomach. Of all things it had to be teeth problems. I’d never had real issues with cavities before either, even if I liked to pretend those braces in middle school had never happened.

I was propelled into the infirmary where a healer was already waiting. Something in a bowl was steaming on the table next to him, and there was a pair of metal pliers and a few other sharp looking instruments beside the bed. I was already turning around when Faramir appeared at the door.

“Ah, you convinced her to come,” he said to Erynion, and lo and behold, he’d brought the Sons of Elrond. Surely everyone in this room had better things to do.

“And I’ve been convinced to leave,” I said immediately. “I am really quite fine and it’s not that bad—”

“I’ll only have a brief look,” the healer insisted, though he did look a bit intimidated by the three Elves in the room. I weighed my chances of outrunning them to the door, but I estimated I’d get three steps max.

Everyone must have read that in my expression. “Surely among your people you have healers like this. It is a common enough ailment,” Faramir told me.

“Of course we do, and it’s quite common. But our medicine and treatment are different and not nearly so… so…” I waved my hand at the metal poking devices on the table and shuddered. At least the dentists I’d been to hid all the scary stuff and knocked you out before they did anything truly terrifying. “Let me finish treating myself before we do anything crazy,” I pleaded.

“You are in pain,” Erynion said stubbornly.

“Yes but please, let me try first.” I shot another look at the medieval torture weapons they called dentistry and backed out of the room. The Elves and Faramir let me go and I all but bolted into the nearest private garden I could find and hid behind a barrel.

“It’s that bad, milady?” Samwise Gamgee kindly asked me, peering over the barrel a few minutes later. I don’t know how he heard, but he had.

“It’s really not that bad. I just don’t like the healing methods here,” I muttered pathetically. Sam’s red-cheeked face furrowed.

“Well miss, I can’t rightly say I’m a healer, but we hobbits know how to deal with tooth problems. If you don’t mind me saying, we are fond of our sweets and well…”

“Surely there’s something other than actually _pulling_ it someone could do?” I asked.

"If you’ll let me look, milady, I can check. I… Well, I pulled a few teeth and patched up a few others for the family,” he said a bit shyly. “Hobbits don’t have right healers lest you’re real sick,” he explained.

I glanced around, but frankly, having a tiny hobbit look in my mouth and not armed healers or shiny Elves sounded far better, so I reluctantly moved to the spot with the best sunlight and opened my mouth.

Sam was gentle as he probed with freshly washed hands. I was still deathly embarrassed all the same. I covered my mouth when he was done, waiting for the prognosis. “Ah, uh, well, looks a bit too black to me. Pullin’ might be best, miss.” He looked nervous.

“But that’s going to hurt!”

“Well, uh, don’t know what Elves would give you nor Men, but I could snag a bit o’ King’s Foil for you and a bottle of wine and that’ll do you up about right.”

“King’s foil?” I asked skeptically. It was either something to make me high (not necessarily a bad prospect) or to numb the pain (probably not as effective as Novocaine) and I wasn’t so sure about either of those options.

“It’s soothin’, if you know what I mean,” Sam said, shrugging. “Better than what we use in the Shire. Had to do it for Merry couple months back.”

“…You really think it has to go?” I squeaked, already feeling resigned. I couldn’t judge for myself, and this pain had been ongoing for weeks. If I let the cavity get worse though, I knew infection and other oral problems were going to happen, and then I’d be strapped to a bed in the healing wards.

Sam nodded.

“…Okay, but make it two bottles of wine.”

* * *

The “surgery” went better than I expected, but was still one of the worst dentistry episodes I’ve ever had. Sam got me quite drunk, mixed up some King’s Foil which turned out to be athelas, go figure, stuck that on my tooth, and when I was convinced the tooth was completely healed by the magical athelas, he lied and said he was going to check on it and yanked it out.

“Next time, miss, you can fill those little holes before they get so bad,” he chastised me as I curled into the fetal position holding my jaw. It was aching with my pulse and I was half-afraid Sam had removed the wrong tooth. At least until he opened his hand and showed me the bloody thing. It had a black ridge on the top that clearly went halfway down the tooth.

I felt like throwing up, but the thought of anything in my mouth stopped that dead, and instead I curled up a bit more and guzzled some wine to forget this whole incident.

* * *

When Faramir found me the next day at breakfast he’d brought Boromir and Eowyn as back-up this time. “The healer will only _look_ ,” he promised me, as Boromir cut off an exit and Eowyn circled around behind.

“But it’s all healed!” I said proudly, tongue automatically going to the hole in the line of my teeth. No one needed to know how it had been healed. Or about my mild hangover.

“Healed?” Boromir repeated.

“Yes. I told you waiting and trusting me would do the trick.”

“Magic then?” Eowyn asked, and I was terribly tempted to say yes, but I shook my head and bit into the bread and egg for breakfast and chewed and swallowed without twitching at all. Sure the hole still hurt, but at least I could drink hot and cold things without wanting to cry.

The three left after Faramir warned me Erynion would be checking up too, and I mentally started thinking of how to cook something from home to give to Sam as thanks.


	32. Tom Bombadil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maddie meets Tom Bombadil on her way to the Shire and hilarity and awkwardness ensue.

There was singing happening in this forest and it didn’t sound particularly Elvish. It was jaunty whatever it was. I glanced at Erynion but his head was cocked and he was concentrating hard.

“…Well?”

No one could call me patient.

“There is a man who lives in this forest, older than the Elves who came to this land. He is of it, as Illuvatar is.”

So he was old, I understood that much. “Does he sing?” I asked semi-rhetorically. Somebody was singing and it sure wasn’t us.

Erynion didn’t answer because at that moment a man burst out of the bushes. He was even shorter than I was, with a feather in his blue hat atop unkempt red hair and strangely bright yellow boots. He had the rosiest cheeks I’d ever seen outside of a Santa Claus book, and he looked positively ecstatic at the sight of us.

“Greetings and salutations, welcome to this forest, long travelers!” he sing-songed.

“ _Iarwain Ben-adar_ ,” Erynion said reverently, bowing.

I’d never seen Erynion awed before, and was stunned by both his reaction and this bizarre man. “Who are you?”

“Tom, they call me. Tom Bombadil. I’m off to see beautiful Goldberry, if you are a-comin’,” he said, beaming behind his shaggy beard.

“Sure!” I said, delighted for some reason by the affable man as he whistled and skipped down the forest path. Erynion followed more sedately while I skipped too. His joy was freakishly contagious to humans at least.

We met an absolutely beautiful woman named Goldberry who was more human than Elvish but still not quite human. She sang in harmony with Tom seemingly out of the blue, and either these two practiced those songs or I was in a musical. Erynion took it in stride so I did too.

“Why do you live in the forest, Tom?” I asked over the sweetest honey I’d ever eaten (and that was saying something, I’d visited Beorn) and cream and fruit pie for lunch. Goldberry was a mean cook and both of them had insisted we stay.

“‘Tis my home, distant one. Has been for as long as the wind has blown. And why are you a-comin’ when your wind blows you from far and away?”

“Oh me and Erynion? We’re going to the Shire.” Erynion added something in Elvish that Tom cheerfully answered in Westron. I was too busy buttering a scone and listening to Golberry’s haunting humming to pay attention.

We spent the rest of the afternoon with them, Tom showing us some of his favorite parts of the forest (everything), singing snippets of tunes and even getting Erynion to sing a little bit, and spontaneously bursting into dance. He was the strangest, funniest person I’d ever met, and I didn’t want to leave when night came. Erynion did not want to stay despite Tom’s offer and my pleas though, so with gifts of food and song we bid Goldberry and Tom Bombadil farewell.

“A word of advice from old Tom,” Tom said when he opened the cottage door for us. “Beware Old Man Willow. Rest before passing him, else ye’ll fall under his spell of dreams. Be merry though, fer a smile can do more magic than a wizard.” He winked, and so saying stepped back inside to sing a traveling song with Goldberry. We walked away watching the lights of their home twinkle merrily.

“Why didn’t you want to stay?” I asked Erynion when we were a distance away.

“It is not that he is unkind or untrustworthy,” Erynion said, shaking his head, the moonlight shimmering in his hair. “He is whimsical and carefree.”

“All things you could use more of,” I said crossly, not liking that I was chewing on tough meat when I could be eating fresh milk and bread made by Goldberry, flavored with wild raspberries Tom had picked on his morning stroll.

“Too much of either is something to be wary of,” Erynion warned. “Tom is a being beyond understanding and beyond mortal and immortal power.”

“Elves are beyond my understanding and yet I’m hardly wary of you,” I retorted, but I saw his point. Tom, while harmless usually and often helpful, was also like a fanciful giant liable to forget who might be under his feet. Though I never saw the immense power Erynion whispered of I could believe it. The whole forest lay under his enchantment; that was obvious after the number of wild and slightly sentient forests I’d been in.

“Okay fine, but I expect my loss of a comfortable bed to be made up,” I warned Erynion, and I could almost hear his invisible sigh as he agreed.


	33. Bumblebee (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Maddie has a tattoo somewhere inconspicuous and sometime in the future Boromir finds it and she tries to explain what it is/represents etc.

Maddie had quite forgotten about it that evening after celebrating the end of the war until Boromir had choked when he’d divested her of her left stocking. “What is this mark?” he asked incredulously.

“What?” she asked confusedly until he’d twisted her hip until she could see the image imprinted on her skin. “My tattoo?”

It took a bit of discussion before they could agree on the Westron word for it—which was derived from the Haradim word for tattoo, because inking ones skin apparently wasn’t common in Gondor. Boromir had only seen tattoos on a handful of merchants; certainly not on a woman half-undressed in his bed.

“Why do you have this mark upon you?” Boromir asked once the matter of the name had been settled. He ran curious fingers up and down the outline of a bumblebee as though he could feel the lines imbedded in the skin, and Maddie shivered, which made the corner of his lips tick up.

“My grandmother’s first husband was a beekeeper. Even though she never had children with him, she always called him her first love, and I always wanted something like that.” She gave Boromir a somewhat shy grin.

“In honor of your grandmother then,” he acknowledged, fingers just a hair lighter as they brushed over the skin. It sent a tingle up Maddie’s leg.

“For her and for true love,” she murmured, and then added under her breath as Boromir’s hand crept up further, “and watching too much Disney.”

He didn’t bother to find out what she meant as he kissed her, thumb rubbing along the tattoo on his thigh. It had always been that one bit of spontaneity from college she’d carried with her when her grandmother died. Funny to think it had been forgotten until now.

“You don’t mind?” Maddie whispered against Boromir’s chin, tongue darting out to taste the stubble that curled around his jaw.

“Mind? No,” he admitted roughly. “Only you and I know it’s there, and it is a mark of a honor.”

Maddie huffed a laugh and rewarded Boromir’s tolerance with a longer, deeper kiss.


	34. First Kiss (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene that didn't make it to HwtF -- Maddie and Boromir's first kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this scene 2 years ago and ever since I've been trying to incorporate it into HwtF. Unfortunately, it never happened, and at the very end of the story I realized it didn't fit. But for those who want to see the relationship of Boromir and Maddie begin, here it is. Warning: it's not entirely compliant with HwtF.

“Boromir, are we lost?”

“We are not lost,” he called back, but I looked around the area dubiously anyway. We were on a muddy “path” leading the horses because of the treacherous ground, and I was also quite sure Boromir was pretending not to follow the river when really he was. I didn’t trust my sense of direction enough to say we’d been here before, but these woods really all did look alike after awhile.

“He’s definitely lost,” I muttered to Thunor, rolling my eyes behind his back. Most Men in Middle Earth didn’t need to ask for directions because they were all used to orienting themselves by the sun and stars. I guess that just solidified the belief that when you _did_ have to ask directions it became a point of pride.

“Perhaps we should stop?” I called ahead, where he was tromping much faster than I through the mud. Despite years now walking and riding everywhere, squelching through this muck was making my thighs burn. My hair was also starting to fall out of the loose braid and was sticking to my sweaty neck.

“Nay, we are almost there.”

Boromir was terribly busy nowadays with all the duties that came with the effort to reestablish Ithilien and defend against the leftover orcs from Mordor, but he seemed to thrive with a packed schedule. Still, it made my lack of work all the more apparent, and I had a nasty suspicion Éowyn had spilled the beans about my boredom to Faramir who then told his brother.

So yesterday Boromir had surprised me and told me to have Thunor saddled up and ready to go at dawn. He would only say there was something to show me, which I had assumed meant some kind of work. Marching through the forest was not what I expected.

I complained about the dawn departure, but once I realized he wasn’t dropping me off somewhere else in the city I got excited despite myself. It looked like I had Boromir all to myself today—when I realized that thought I firmly stuffed any _feelings_ back where they belonged. It was a beautiful day and I got to be out in it, and just as the city began to feel stifling too. It was only mildly annoying that my boots squelched loudly in the mud, and Thunor kept bumping my shoulder looking for treats.

“Ah, here we are,” Boromir called ahead, and I grumbled as I followed in his muddy footprints until I was standing beside him in front of a sheer rock wall. I could vaguely hear the river off to my left, and the trees butted up right against the rock, but there was nothing special about the place. Nevertheless, Boromir was looking at the stone like there was something vitally important written into it. Whatever he was seeing I definitely wasn’t.

“I don’t understand, is this a Dwarf thing?” I asked knowing Dwarves had fancy invisible doors and such thanks to Gimli’s long-winded descriptions of just about every Dwarf kingdom he’d been to. Boromir ignored me though and led his horse in the direction of the water.

When we got to the riverside he tied the reins loosely to a low tree and did the same with Thunor’s before taking the saddle bags and throwing them over one shoulder. As he did this he looked more like a farmer in a field than the general he was.

It was still a bit strange to see Boromir out of official garb. When I’d first met him he had formal Gondorian travel clothes as befitting his status, coupled with chainmail and travel armor—or what the name roughly translated to. Then during the war he was in full plate mail, which was both decorated and probably weighed as much as he did 

But now, relaxing like we were today, Boromir wore only a loose tunic and coat, riding boots instead of marching boots, and nothing with the flare of his usual clothes. He didn’t look like a member of the second most powerful family in Gondor—he just looked like a medieval man. _One with great physique_ , my traitorous mind supplied, and I bit my tongue so I could keep the blood from rushing to my cheeks.

“I hope you do not mind a steep climb,” he said with a boyish grin that told me exactly how steep this was.

“How far is the fall?” I asked warily, but he only laughed.

“I will catch you if you fall, but you are more surefooted than you think.” I frowned at him, but he was already walking ahead. He led me back to the same stony wall as before, but this time he pointed up. “Do you see that shadowed overhang there? There is a path that begins there. I will boost you up.”

He had to be kidding. It was at least four feet over my head, and didn’t look very deep from this angle. The top of the wall had to be at least three times as high as that. “How do you know about this? And how will you get up there?”

He chuckled, reading my horrified face correctly. “Surely you are not afraid of heights? Faramir and I would come here as children, and there was a tree that we could climb as boys.”

I looked around for this tree, but he put the saddlebags down and ushered me closer to the wall. “It will be just like getting on Thunor,” he said, voice rumbling against my back. “When I lift you, grab the ledge and pull yourself up.” Before I could protest he put his hands on my waist from behind, his big hands warm as they settled around me, and I found my heart racing for several reasons, and not all of them related to rock climbing. My inner teenage girl—because we all have one let’s face it—was squealing, but the rest of me was gibbering about steep paths and no railings.

Boromir didn’t even bother with a countdown, he just lifted, and I took a half-second to marvel at the obvious strength—how much did his sword and shield weigh, on top of his armor that he could do this?—before I found my fingers automatically curling around the top of the ledge. It was wider than it looked from the ground, so with the leverage of one foot on his shoulder I was able to get my arms up there and heave myself up.

Not only was I getting a flashback from a certain illegal fence-climbing maneuver in Edoras, but I was also thankful again to be wearing leggings under this dress, because that would have been _massively_ embarrassing. (I thoroughly squished any and all other thoughts pertaining to that.)

When I looked down, Boromir was grinning up at me with a smug curl to his lips. I frowned at him, but the white-knuckled grip on the ledge gave me away. My heart was jumping from the height when he tossed up the saddlebags to me and told me to move further up the path. There was no railing and the path was only just wide enough for me. Also, what the hell was in these bags? Something clicked around as I picked them up, and they were quite heavy. I shuffled up the path without taking my hand off the wall or my knees from the ground and opened them while he stepped back from the wall. There looked to be two water skeins, and food—oh a picnic!

I was taken aback by the gesture. We’d eaten breakfast on the horses after all, and I knew Boromir was very pragmatic. This was thoughtful though, and I had to stifle the unnecessary jump my heart made. Remember, he’s pragmatic. If it’s this hard to get up here, then it’s hard to get back down and it’s nearly lunchtime. It’s logical to bring the food with us.

When I looked back down to find Boromir, I saw him run at the wall, push off it and grab the ledge in one move. I dropped the saddlebags momentarily stunned by his craziness—who did he think he was, Mario?—then grabbed his arm to help haul him up. He didn’t really need my help, but it didn’t much matter. The easy grin on his face from the rush was enough to get me smiling at him, at least until he carefully stood up and indicated the way up.

“Keep one hand on the wall and you should be fine. I'm right behind you.” He offered me his hand to help me up from my crouch, and I held his forearm in a death-grip until I felt like I wasn’t going to immediately topple over the side. I wasn’t clumsy, but heights never made it easy to balance for me. “Well go on then,” he said jokingly, but his hands hovered to make sure I didn’t fall as I started up the path.

I shot him a flat look over my shoulder, which he ignored, and I refused to take my hand even momentarily off the wall. I had to look down to make sure I didn’t catch my feet on the uneven stones, and that also meant I could always see the ground—and how much the distance to it increased the higher we went.

The path was indeed steep, and sometimes steps seemed to have been carved in, and other times they had worn away so it was just a dirt slope. Boromir, to his credit, didn’t complain at my slow pace. At one particular spot the steps were barely wide enough for my toes, and seeing my hesitation one heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I nearly started, sending pebbles skittering down the side of the rock face. “Keep your hand on the wall or you’ll fall!” I hissed back at him.

“Do not worry for me. You’ve been doing just fine.”

“This ledge is barely wide enough for me, and you’re bigger than I am,” I snapped back, and he squeezed my shoulder rather than let go.

“I will not let you fall,” he repeated, and it did help keep my heart rate down, even though I laid all the blame at his feet for getting me up on this rocky path in the first place.  

It got harder as we got nearer the top, the pathway steeper than before and curling around the edge of the rock face. We were almost even with the tops of the trees by this point, not that I was looking anywhere but at my feet. Boromir eventually had to take his hand off my shoulder to maintain his own balance, and the place where it had been tingled pleasantly. The moment I reached the top I jumped off the path and on to solid ground, feeling giddy and relieved.  

“See, you didn’t fall,” he teased me, brushing his hands off on his pants as I turned back to him.

“I nearly did,” I argued, but it wasn’t really true.

We were on top of some rocky formation that jutted up above the rest of the landscape and commanded an impressive view. We were above the treetops now, so all I could see for miles was sweeping greenery in dips and valleys. I could see mountains to our right, black with soot and shadow like all the mountains of Mordor, and to the west was the small river we’d left the horses by. It fed into the Anduin, which was just visible beyond the foliage far out, slipping in and out of view as it meandered through the landscape. The view was absolutely breathtaking. We were able to see the shape of the land for miles, and by luck it was a fairly clear day.

On the far side of the stone hill there was an old ring of stone like the foundation of a watchtower, long covered in moss and the leftovers of birds’ nests. Boromir had already gone over and investigated the circle before putting the saddlebags down.

“Who built this?” I asked as I approached. It was wide enough for at least five of him, so my watchtower idea seemed more certain.

“Men who lived in these lands long ago. There is little left of them but these ruins now. Come, look down there.” Boromir put his hand between my shoulder blades sending a shiver down my spine and led me over to the edge looking south. He pointed down the Anduin and into the hazy distance, where the sky met the trees far away. There was something way down there glinting by the river, but I couldn’t make out any detail.

“It is Osgiliath.”

“We can see Osgiliath from here?” I gaped, wondering just how high we had climbed. We had to be on a ridge to begin with, and then climbed even higher, otherwise there no way we could see all the way there. Osgiliath was still being rebuilt, and mostly workers and the stationed garrison lived there at the moment. It was also Boromir’s headquarters as both Prince of Ithilien and General of Gondor.

“One day you will be able to see the towers that once stood there, and see the flash of the sun against the white stone.” I looked up at Boromir, whose proud brow was furrowed, and rather wished I were bold enough to smooth it out.

“That day is coming.”

“Have you seen this, Lady of the Secret Fire?” He teased, seeming to come out of whatever temporary melancholy had struck him. I was more than willing to keep the mood up, and pouted as expected.

“You know perfectly well once the Ring was destroyed all my knowledge was exhausted. I only meant that compared to when I first saw it and now much has been accomplished.”

“Aye, I know.” His grey eyes were soft, and I felt flustered and my stomach was flip-flopping like a preteen. Damn but he had beautiful eyes.

“Over there is Cair Andros,” he continued after a moment, turning me northwest where the river was the widest, snaking blue through the foliage. “It is on an island in the middle of the Great River. There is a garrison there and an important fort.” His voice was just over my ear as he pointed out several more features of the land and lamented that I still had not seen the Gates of Argonath. “One day I will take you there. The both of us would be the size of one toe; that is how big they are. Truly, they stand as tall as Orthanc and the faces of the kings are not weathered as one might think after so many ages.” I was only half listening to him; the rest of me was trying not to vibrate at how close he was.

“How old are they?”

“It was the reign of Rómendacil II that they were built. This was perhaps two thousand years ago.”

“Two thousand years?” I sputtered, turning to face Boromir incredulously. The Coliseum was about that old, and Rome had lasted, what, a thousand years? It was hard to imagine any one kingdom existing for as long as Gondor seemingly had. “The kingdom of Gondor is two thousand years old?”

“Indeed. Elendil and his sons, Isildur and Anárion, built the Gates of Argonath at the end of the Second Age. Do you not know this history?” He looked more amused.

“I’m afraid maidservants aren’t the most well-versed in ancient Gondorian history.” He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, and I felt irrationally happy I had caused it. “But I can tell you who all the finest bachelors in Minas Tirith are—or were, since I’m a year behind all the gossip.” The moment I said that I wish I could have taken it back. There was something speculative in Boromir’s look, and I was genuinely afraid he was actually going to ask me for names. The top two on that list had been Boromir and Faramir, and I couldn’t remember a single other one.

Thankfully, Boromir spared me the humiliation. “I would be happy to share with you the stories of the kingdom when we have time, so long as it does not bore you.”

Knowing how busy Boromir was, I was going to jump at any excuse to spend time with him. “I would love to hear them.” It was silly how pleasing him made my smile bigger, and I really did feel like an idiotic teenager with a crush—worse, I almost didn’t care.

“How did you find this place?” I asked mostly to steer the conversation to a safer topic. He looked out past me and I followed his gaze to the sheer beauty that was the forest, plains, hills and waters of Middle Earth. It was so easy to become accustomed to amazing vistas like this, but sometimes the power of it would strike me once more, right alongside the magnitude that I was _in Middle Earth_. This was _real_ and I was standing in Middle Earth looking at mountains and rivers and forests that I could actually explore if I so wanted. The vastness and impossibility of it all made me feel very small and very blessed.

“When Faramir and I were young we visited Osgiliath. We were boys then, in search of adventure, and there was nothing more fascinating to us than the Forbidden Pool. It is part of one of the Ranger’s most secret watchtowers. No one is allowed to go in the water, otherwise they cede their life.” When I looked up at Boromir’s face, his expression was the picture of nostalgia. I wondered if sometimes he wanted to grasp the freedom of youth all over again. Strangely for me, wandering around Middle Earth had erased most of the adult responsibilities I’d once had: no bills, no cleaning, no job. I had that freedom of youth I’d squandered all over again.

“Did you find it?”

“We did not,” he said with a smile, “not as boys at least. But that did not stop us from trying. We found this place along the way. I have long thought of putting a guard tower here, but…”

“It’s special,” I finished when he did not, and he didn’t say more about it.

“Come, I have lunch for us.”

We settled on some of the old stones of the watchtower foundation, and Boromir pulled out a loaf of bread and soft cheese from the saddlebags. There was also cold chicken and tarts that looked to be made of spinach and cheese that were delicious and savory, and two apples almost as big as his fist.

We ate heartedly, with snippets of conversation about food and a friendly discussion of way bread. We unanimously agreed Dwarvish way bread was the worst and reluctantly (for Boromir) that _lembas_ was the best. Boromir was adamant that Gondorian bread was infinitely better than Rohirrim, and he was mockingly offended when I admitted I couldn’t tell the difference. He didn’t take out the water skeins as we ate, but as I was licking my fingers from my second spinach tart and thinking about who to wheedle the recipe out of, he pulled them out and unstopped the caps.

“This is a very fine wine from Pinnath Gelin—the Green Hills of Gondor. It is sweeter than most of our wines, and highly prized.” I flushed a bit at the teasing, because Boromir knew full well I wasn’t impressed with the wine here. We’d all gone to a million feasts for the new King, the new Steward, everybody’s weddings, various war heroes, awarding of new ranks, etc., and at most of the dinners I managed to gripe at least once about the wine.

He handed me one flask and waited expectantly. It took me half a second to realize he wanted to see my reaction. “Wait. We have to do a toast.”

Boromir looked amused now, even going so far as to look around us. “There are only two of us.”

The way he said it made everything seem suddenly much more intimate than before, but I stubbornly pushed aside the stuttering of my heart and insisted. “You don’t need lots of people to do a toast. Just something to toast to.” Then before he could say anything more I held up my flask of wine and waited until he did the same. “To the restoration of Gondor.” He repeated it, and we took a sip. I rolled around the flavor of the wine in my mouth finding it much smoother and sweeter, but still crisp, compared to all the other Gondorian wines I had before. “You’re right, this really is excellent wine.”

“I’m glad it meets your high standards. Some say it is more like Elvish wine.”

“Well I hope it isn’t as strong,” I joked, while simultaneously vowing to never tell him about that time involving some Lothlórien guards, Erynion, and a harp. “If it is, you may have to lead me and Thunor back.” That stirred a funny thought about drunk riding laws, but no one would understand the humor but me.

Boromir stopped me from taking another drink of the wine and held up his own flask to make a toast. “To the Lady Maddie, who helped to save Gondor.”

Now he took a pointed drink and gave me a look over the skein that was laughing at me as I sputtered in embarrassment. My cheeks red, I followed with a drink too.

We made small talk as we drank, mostly about how bad Rohirrim wine was—Boromir complained of its sourness too, which made me feel vindicated—and how Dwarvish beer really was excellent. We fell into comfortable silence slowly, taking in the landscape and the melody of nature, and at least on my part trying not to stare at Boromir. The wine had shifted the atmosphere just a little, and I’m sure this wine was stronger than I thought, because my eyes kept being drawn to the strength of his jaw, the flex of his hands, and the curve of his collar peaking out from his shirt.

A bird was flitting about not too far away, probably hoping for crumbs, and thankfully a question sprang to mind. “Did you ever have a pet?”

Boromir blinked from whatever he was contemplating, and his eyes flicked to the bird. “I have had horses, and when I was young I played with the hunting dogs. Yourself?”

“My family had three dogs: Court, Rosie, and Brie.”

“Were they your father’s hunting dogs?” Boromir’s voice was softer, but I wasn’t sure what was underlying it.

“No, no, my father didn’t hunt. They were just our dogs. Like family members. Court wasn’t very smart, but he would play… he would pick up anything you threw. Rosie was very sweet and great with children. She was the oldest though, so she was slowing down. Brie like to lick people’s hands, and no matter how much we trained him he would still jump on guests.” It was a little strange to talk about these things, but it felt good too. I hadn’t quite realized until now how few personal anecdotes I shared with people. Other than Éowyn there really hadn’t been anyone else.

“You miss your home very much.” His voice was deeper than before, and it was the first time I’d ever heard him sound truly sad. “It is difficult to remember sometimes that you have come from so far away. Even the stars are different to you.”

I watched him stir from his seat and move to sit down beside me. His shoulder was touching mine, and after a short mental debate I pressed into it. He was solid and familiar, like few things were anymore. “Do you know how resigned you sounded, when you told me you could not tell time by the stars? That you did not know even one shape amongst them? That is one of my greatest comforts when I leave my home; knowing that the stars are ever the same, no matter where I go.” I dropped my head a little lower onto his shoulder and just breathed in the familiar smell of him.

“I could barely recognize the stars in my homeland anyway, so I hardly notice,” I replied slowly, and that was mostly true. He would probably be upset to know that it _had_ bothered me when I couldn’t find Orion’s Belt or the Big Dipper on that day back in the woods of Rivendell. It had seemed like a different Maddie had been there. I felt him shift his weight a little, and I slumped further against him. I could have sat up, but he wasn’t complaining or moving away, in fact his arm shifted to better accommodate me.

“But you do notice other things. We do not have the same wine,” he nudged his empty skein with his foot to emphasize it, and I wondered if he was affected by it at all. Was I? Or was this comfortably familiarity all us? “We ride horses and wield swords and you do not—did not.” He paused, and I could feel his stare on me but I couldn’t guess his expression. I didn’t look up to judge it. “I know this is not your home, but I did not lie when I said that Gondor could be your home.”

I recognized what this strange tension between us was, and I felt heat pool in my stomach. He wasn’t moving though, and when I did finally glance up we made eye contact for the barest second before he looked past me. Under the beard and the tan though was just a bit of red.

“You know, there is a saying in my homeland…” I started, and I could see his hand resting on the ground between us. “Home is where the heart is.”

 _Cheesy_ , my brain screamed, but he’d obviously never heard the quote before, if the slight widening of his eyes was anything to go by. He looked very deliberately at me, communicating a hundred things, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I put my hand over his, curling my fingers around it until he let me lift it up and hold it properly. He had calluses all over his hands, and thick fingers made for hard work. “I’m… a little nervous,” I said after hesitating, not looking at him and unable to think of a single word to encompass all my feelings at this moment except straight honesty. Those big fingers curled around mine, gentle like he always was. Encouraged by the reciprocation, I rubbed my thumb over his palm, brushing the pebbles from the ground off. “I’m just…” _be brave…_ “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

I think it took an extra second for the words to sink in, and then Boromir smiled, one side of his mouth pulling up the other because I surprised him. “You do not ever do things properly do you?” It was a rhetorical question though, and the way his eyes flicked to my mouth reassured me I wasn’t a complete idiot. “May I?”

I’d barely nodded when his free hand cupped my cheek and then his lips met mine. It was chaste but sweet, lingering and soft, and I found the rasp of his beard to be strangely arousing. My hand pulled down on his shoulder, encouraging him closer, and we slotted together naturally.

He kissed like he was sure, even though ten seconds ago neither of us had been. He was warm and big, and I felt undeniably safe and _right_ as he pulled our linked hands to his chest and better positioned his other hand so we could meet at a new angle. He pulled back for a breath, and I didn’t even have time to be disappointed before he brushed my lips again, once, twice, and then with a pulling kiss that coaxed my mouth open before I realized it. He tasted like wine and apples, and somewhere it registered in me that he was _good_ at this, and I hadn’t expected that at all, but the rest of me really couldn’t care less.

Eventually he pulled away before things got too charged— _damn medieval propriety_ —but he did tilt my head in his big hand and press a longing kiss on my cheek as we parted, an apology and a promise all wrapped in one. My senses were shaken by those simple kisses, and I wondered if he could see how swollen my lips felt. His eyes were a darker grey than I’d ever seen, and he was staring at me with something a little like rapture. I couldn’t help leaning up to steal one more taste, just a short press of my lips to his, and when I pulled back there was a hint of roguishness in his smile I’d never seen before.

“Tell me, are there customs in your land for courtship?” Oh gods his voice was raspier than I’d ever heard, and I felt that slow burn he’d ignited in me jump a notch. He still had my hand in his, and his other one had slid down to cup the back of my neck, kneading the back of my skull just a little. It was making me melt a bit.

“Uh, no, no not really. Couples eat together and do things they like together. And then… well…” It seemed overly optimistic to bring up marriage, though given Éowyn’s reaction to Cliff maybe it was generally accepted that a courting couple was going to marry.

“Do you need a chaperone or permission to begin courtship?” He’d lost some of the rasp, which was unfortunate, but it made it a little easier to think.

“Permission? I guess it’s traditional to ask the woman’s father before marrying, but not everyone follows that.” There wasn’t anyone for Boromir to ask anyway. “And no, there’s no chaperones. …I don’t suppose we need one here, or are you breaking the rules?” I realized halfway through speaking that it was just Boromir and I for miles. Clarimond and Oriolda would have been scandalized and proud.

He had that hint of the roguish smile again, and I wondered what it would take to fully see it. “Technically we should be in public, but the rules are a little loose.” His rough thumb rubbed the back of my hand. “In Gondor, it’s common to exchange gifts, share meals, and take walks together. When the families and couple are in agreement, the wedding is planned.”

“Sounds about the same,” I nodded, unable to stop my lips from curving into a pout for just a second when his hand slipped from my neck. By my standards this was nothing, but I didn’t want to do anything hugely inappropriate by Gondorian ones. I would have to see if Éowyn could help me determine what was and wasn’t acceptable—or maybe it would be better to just ask Boromir rather than be thoroughly embarrassed when he learned about my inquiries through Faramir, because Éowyn was a meddler who couldn’t keep a secret from her husband.

Oh gosh, Éowyn was going to tease me mercilessly once the news broke.

Boromir helped me up and we cleaned up the loose bits and put them all back in the saddlebags, all while sneaking glances at each other. There was still a little wine in my skein, and I tipped my head back and drained it in one last go. I hadn’t thought about how it looked until Boromir started to laugh.

“I’m glad to see you enjoy it so. I will be sure to make a gift of it again.”

“Only if I can enjoy it in your company,” I added, and he smiled again. I’d gotten more smiles out of him today than I’d probably gotten the whole time before the end of the war. Both of us were downright giddy, but happiness made Boromir all the more handsome.

We got down the hillside about as smoothly as we got up, but when it came to jumping down I had to give credit to Boromir’s deviousness. There probably _was_ a tree somewhere I could have used to clamber up and down, but he instead dropped down and rolled like he did this all day, and then promised to catch me.

“I wasn’t aware I was in a fairy tale,” I muttered in English, thinking simultaneously that this was the most cliché thing in the world and that it was also kind of romantic.

I climbed down carefully to hand by my arms, and then with Boromir’s encouragement I let go. Nobody will tell you landing in someone’s arms is comfortable because it’s not, but it beats landing on a horse astride.

Boromir definitely waited an extra moment before letting me stand on my own, but I wasn’t complaining. Then he took my hand and we walked back to the horses, where we caught Thunor in the act of eating all the grass near where the other horse was eating so Boromir’s horse had to keep moving and Thunor kept following.

“Thunor, don’t be mean,” I chastised, letting go of Boromir’s hand to go and grab his bridle and pull him away. “There’s enough grass in the world for both of you.”

“I think your horse has gotten smarter.”

“The Elves did it,” I said darkly, and Boromir snorted as he untied the reins from the tree and handed me mine. “I don’t know what they fed him, but he got more unbearable the longer he spent time with them. Those Elvish horses taught him all the tricks.”

Boromir laughed then, hard and loud, and I couldn’t help joining him when I realized what a paranoid crackpot I sounded like.

When the laughter was out of us, Boromir only hesitated for half a second before leaning forward to kiss me softly again. I wasn’t sure if he was being forward for Middle Earth, but I was thrilled. I let go of the reins and cupped his face with both hands to kiss him more thoroughly. Gods he was perfect, and I couldn’t think of anything else but that until he pulled away, hair more disheveled and his hands making creases in my dress from where he gripped my waist.

“Your people are very demonstrative?” he asked, a full grin on his lips that made me rather hungry for another kiss.

“I don’t know what that means, but if this is demonstrative, then yes.”

“I think I should prefer doing things your way then.” He eyes were full of affection, and my heart definitely sputtered to a halt for a second there before kick-starting three times as fast.

“How long do courtships normally last here?”

“Perhaps half a year at most.” I was a bit surprised by how short it was, but given how long I’d known Boromir now it didn’t bother me as much as it might once have.

“Then you would not like it in my homeland. I think the average length of courtship was one or two years at least.”

“Two years?” He actually looked dismayed, and I laughed and curved one hand around his back. “Yes, but often you do not know the person until you begin courting. I do believe I’ve known you for a year now.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Quite, Boromir. It varies a lot. What matters really is… well, how you feel about the other person and if you want to spend your future with them.” There was no way he missed my stumble about love, and my cheeks were definitely radiating heat, but he didn’t call me on it. He just leaned down and kissed me once more until most of the embarrassment had receded. 

“Then I shall convince you of these things.” I had to stifle some quip about how little time that was going to take if he kept this up and instead pressed my lips to his again. We wouldn’t get much of a chance once everyone knew we were courting, I could guess, and it was only prudent to take advantage.

When we separated, he helped me up on to Thunor and then mounted his own charger, a borrowed one since his destrier was being shoed. Then we cantered back to Osgiliath, and I secretly dreaded telling everyone at dinner while Boromir looked excited at the prospect. As long as that did not foretell our future we would be okay.


	35. Christmas in the Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous ask: Hey mushi!!!! so excited to see you writing ficlets again!! they are such a joy to read! i was wondering if you felt like writing something christmassy? maybe maddie gets nostalgic around christmas time and starts humming a lot of carols or missing her family or something, and her bf gets her a present or takes her to find a tree to decorate or something :) erynion in particular i would love but anything goes! merry christmas darling! ps. sorry if you got this twice chrome is acting up xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to completely ignore Tolkien's writings about the Shire's climate being like England, where snow in December is fairly rare. Nope, the Shire is getting snow for Christmas this year.

Erynion didn't understand Maddie's insistence on leaving Rivendell when autumn had begun to pass. The valley was enchanted to remain warm even in the winter, but she started to ask about snow, and then badgered to leave, and before he quite understood it they were packed and saddled up and leaving the balmy weather behind.

Erynion thought for sure she'd regret leaving for Hobbiton midway through the trip when the nights began to frost over and the wind slipped through every crack of her cape. She persisted though, chattering on about how wintery it felt and how lovely snow would look in Hobbiton.

When they arrived the hobbits were overjoyed to have guests and Maddie set right up to making the small cottage they'd been given for their stay as cozy as humanely possible. Erynion did not know where this strange nesting instinct was coming from, but when he fussed with something or asked why all the blankets had to be red, Maddie would huff and chime something about the season.

He never really asked what this was all about until he found her down in the small grassy mall below the hobbit holes. She had commandeered a tree there and was hanging paper and wooden shapes and bobbles off it. "What are you doing, Maddie?"

"It's a Christmas tree," she said, straining to reach some of the higher branches. When even her tip-toes could not reach, she handed it to him and pointed to a branch.

Erynion looked at the small wooden deer ornament then at her.

"Please?"

He looped the thread around a high branch and stepped back. Maddie smiled softly at it.

"What is a... Chriss-mos tree?"

"Christmas," she corrected. "It's a holiday we celebrated every winter in my home. There would be decorated trees full of lights, stockings full of presents—lots of presents in fact!—Christmas dinner, and decorated cookies..." she was no longer looking at him as she listed off these traditions, instead staring at the tough evergreen tree she was bedazzling with random objects.

"You miss it," Erynion said softly. "Your family."

"Every other year I was busy or traveling, but this one…" she looked away from the tree and back to him. "This time I have a family." Her cold, pink fingers slipped into his hand and he squeezed it just the slightest. "So now…"

"Now you want to have… Christmas."

Maddie shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. "Rivendell doesn't feel like winter, and a white Christmas is traditional. Plus, Hobbiton is so cozy it's perfect."

Her expression was nostalgia tinged with a bit of longing, and Erynion found he didn’t care for it. If something as simple as decorating a tree made her a little happier than he could do that.

"Tell me about Christmas then."

They walked back to their small cottage hand-in-hand as Maddie expounded on fruit cakes and twinkling lights, stories of a red-suited man sneaking down chimneys, and childhood delights and treats. Erynion had never heard of any holiday as outlandish as this Christmas, but clearly to Maddie it was beloved. And so when she slipped into sleep beside the fireplace, he went out to find the Elves who lived not far from the Shire to seek their help in a gift.

\--

When Christmas Eve came almost ten days later, Maddie invited some of the friendly hobbits for a big meal in their cottage, which eventually spilled into the front yard and around the side of the home when those hobbits brought cousins and children and distant relations with them. It was a merry sight, everyone told to wear red and green, a few sprigs of holly plucked to make a centerpiece, and Maddie's eyes sparkling with delight as the children giggled and laughed. She helped them to decorate cookies with sugar and berries, insisted on cranberries for some reason, and tucked her hand into Erynion’s throughout the dinner.

Then when everyone had been shooed off with stomachs full, Maddie settled down in a big blanket in front of the fire with a smile. She was drowsy from good food and wine, and Erynion felt his whole stomach warm somehow at the look of her happiness. "There's a famous Christmas poem," she murmured. "I used to have it memorized."

Erynion tilted his head, and Maddie murmured lowly, "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

She only made it through the first two verses before the Hobbit wine put her to sleep. Erynion wrapped one of the warm blankets around her and watched the snow trickle down outside behind the flickering candle in the window.

Close to dawn, Erynion slipped free of his bedroll and set his gift beside the stockings she had laid out. Maddie had already put one for him there the day before, all wrapped in brown paper with a ribbon.

He stoked the fire and warmed the bread and when the light of the morning started to fill the room Maddie stirred from under the blanket. She poked her head up and even though her hair was mussed, she spied the large hand-knitted stockings one of the hobbit women had made for her and jumped to wakefulness.

"Merry Christmas Erynion," she said, excitedly, gathering together a mug of tea and tugging him down to sit on the floor with her. She handed his package to him and insisted he open it there. He tugged the ribbon loose and then peeled the sides of the brown paper off, tuning out Maddie's mutterings about how she knew he wouldn't be a ripper. Inside the small package was a small woven bracelet of green, yellow, and brown threads with small silver beads interspersed. He held it up to the light and saw Maddie's nervously eager expression. "I made it myself," she explained. "I used to make them when I was a girl, and I wanted to give you something personal, but I spent all month trying to think of what."

Erynion fingered it gently and then proffered his wrist to Maddie. As she tied it on Erynion's thumb gently traced the curve of her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. " _Guren glassui_ ," he whispered, and then carefully leaned forward to press his lips to hers.

Maddie pulled back eventually to sigh, skin flushed with pleasure. Then he reached behind him and brought out the gift he'd put near the stockings. Maddie's mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise when she saw it.

"Erynion, you didn't have to!"

"Happy Christmas," he told her, watching as she carefully tore the package open and opened the finely wrought wooden box to see the ring. It was a small silver thing with a stylized mallorn leaf filigreed in gold on the top. She touched it with a shaking finger, then looked up at him with suspiciously shiny eyes.

"Why are you crying?” he asked, catching one tear before it could slip down her face.

Maddie shook her head. "It's beautiful, just beautiful." She hesitated to slip it on as she pulled it out of the box, and Erynion brushed one still wet finger along her jaw. "I’m just being silly,” she muttered, wiping her eyes. She slid the ring on to her fourth finger of her right hand and admired it.

“I love it, Erynion, Merry Christmas.” She beamed at him and he let her pull her down to kiss him properly.

“Merry Christmas, Maddie.”


	36. Retainers (Éomer/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eomer has a question.

It was inevitably Eomer who noticed, which made sense since I'd been kissing him for the past few weeks. I would have been surprised it took so long if I had even remembered I had it.

"Maddie, I must confess, I have something of an impertinent question for you."

"Go ahead," I said, almost with glee. What was impertinent for a Rohirrim was definitely _not_ impertinent for me. I collected myself on the small couch in his study, watching him pace near the door.

"I have found that I… in getting to know you…" he hesitated, drawing out the last word. That wasn't like Eomer.

My glee dissipated in the idea that something about me—something intrinsically related to my modernity—was causing a problem. Suddenly this was much more serious.

"What is it?"

"There is… that is…" Eomer was not a great man of words, but he mustered on nonetheless where another man would have probably stopped and given up.

I leaned forward.

"A type of contraption, I have sensed, within your…that is, against your lower mouth, of some curiosity to me…"

He mumbled something that was hard to decipher, but "metal" doesn't rhyme with a lot of things.

"Something metal in my mouth?" I'd been so long without modern Earth that I didn't even think of it until I ran my tongue around my mouth and sensed nothing unusual. Tonsils, teeth, retainer, jaw…

Retainer…

"Oh my… shit." It had been awhile since a word had truly stumped me, but "retainer" did it. There wasn't a translation for it, and no word I could use that meant something similar.

"It's of no matter," Eomer interjected, "Simply a small curiosity of–"

"My healer gave it to me. To keep my teeth straight," I blurted, and Eomer looked startled at the explanation.

"Why?"

"I said to keep my teeth straight."

"…But why?"

He looked truly stumped.

"Because it looks better?"

Eomer squinted a little at my mouth, and I found myself closing my lips over my teeth to hide them. I was very self-conscious suddenly. "Your people put metal in your mouth for beauty? I thought crushing seashells was extravagant!" He started to laugh but not I was gaping at him.

"Crushing seashells? And people notice teeth!"

"I assure you they do not!" Eomer retorted, laughing and throwing his arms around my waist. "It is luck whether your teeth are strong or not, nothing more. Yours clearly have strength if they can accept metal to make them straight."

"What's this about seashells then!" I demanded, deciding not to bring genes or anything else into this.

"Eowyn's fine makeup of course. Apparently only the best come from the outlying shores. Why such products are needed I shake my head," he said, guiding me off the bed and out of the room.

"They are needed because men tell us we aren't beautiful without them," I said smartly. Now of course when Eomer flashed his teeth at me I noticed a white, straight smile. He was lucky with his genes, because the paste they used for toothpaste and the lack of braces in Middle Earth meant he was among the few.

I kissed that smile because I could and pulled back to see his cheeks redden.

"Not here, I beg," he murmured, and I realized only then that we'd stepped into the great hall where many of his men, courtiers, and advisors worked. Quite a few had taken notice of us and were grinning behind their hands.

"It is what you deserve for making me worry."

"Worry?" he asked, sounding worried himself.

"I thought you had something serious to say!"

"It 'twas serious!" he argued, but the look I shot him quelled any protest. Eomer's gaze went over my shoulder, but I didn't know who he shared that long-suffering look with. Later, when he had gone to have a moment with his men, Eowyn told me that was how all married men should look.

"If you are not making them ask serious questions of themselves and the world then you are failing," she informed me.

"Indeed? What serious questions has Faramir been asking?"

"Why knees are so intriguing," Eowyn said promptly.

I arched a brow. "Does he realize it's because he doesn't see them often?"

"Yes, but he can't figure out why they are arousing regardless!" and we both started laughing.

I went to bed that night, thinking of Eomer's kiss goodnight, and then carefully, for the first time in years, tonguing the permanent retainer in my mouth. Three years of braces, innumerable orthodontist appointments, and the only sign of all that effort was this. Sometimes I forgot that within me I carried my homeworld. It wasn't all just in that mirror I'd kept; I had the retainer too now.


	37. Wedding Day (Éomer/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elfwine's wedding day is a big moment for Maddie and Eomer.

Maddie woke quietly, which surprised her. On the day of her son's wedding she half-expected to be up in the black of night unable to sleep. But Elfwine had found a bride he loved, and who shared the sentiment enthusiastically. Éomer had muttered about responsibilities and the council talked of bloodlines, but Maddie had been the mother who would have supported a scullery maid for a wife if it made her son happy.

Éomer would have too, she thought. She'd have convinced him.

That had made her proud. Let Middle Earth seep into her pores and her bones—it couldn't change all of her.

And yet here, today, the dawn of her son's promise to another, he left the herd to make his own. It made her melancholy and shockingly happy all at once.

Éomer's arm tightened around her waist and she rolled over in bed to see his eyes were blearily opening. "The day?" he croaked.

"Your son is to be wed," Maddie confirmed.

He smiled faintly, her husband. Graying at the temples, his flesh starting to sag at the corners of his eyes and the joints, Maddie looked at Éomer and felt such a swelling of love. "We raised him well," she murmured.

"Yes," he grunted, visibly waking up as he added, "He will treat her well." His face was still buried in the pillow but his thumb stroked up and down Maddie's skin and she knew Éomer was a bit reluctant to see such a big day come to pass too.

Maddie kissed his cheek and let him rise slowly as she considered the preparations for her gown, the things she would need to ensure were ready for a—literally—royal wedding. It was a huge task, one that hadn't struck her fully until this moment.

Éomer eventually sat up and shrugged into the undertunic of his formal-wear, barely glancing over as Maddie pulled on the chemise and underclothes she'd need today. She looked over her shoulder at him preparing his mental armor and crossed the room to wrap her arms around him.

"All will be well," she reassured.

"Do you know that, truly?" Éomer asked, his cheek coming back as he woke up more.

"As well as I know you, husband," Maddie replied as she always did. Her foresight was long lost to her in the years after the Ring, but the teasing continued always. That Éomer could make light of such a huge secret made Maddie appreciate him all the more.

"Then gird yourself, Queen of the Rohirrrim," he breathed, kissing her quickly as the maids, hearing their movement, came in.

Maddie didn't get to respond, but she did get to kiss Elfwine in private, his fine black tunic embroidered with the horse of Rohan, gold and silver glinting from his throat and crown as he stood for her inspection in his full regalia.

"You look…" Maddie's words failed her for a moment before she choked out the right response. "…You look good."

"Good, _mother_?" Elfwine asked, deliberately using the English word.

"Like your father," she amended, adjusting his collar slightly. "As handsome as he did when I wed him. As handsome as you will when you're king."

Elfwine met his mother's eyes and saw the promise in them. She did not _know_ , he knew, and yet…

It was tempting to ask her for a spell, as he had when he was a boy. _Do it, mommy, do a spell mommy…_ he'd begged, oblivious to the details of her magic and abilities. Now though…

"Wish me luck," he said, and she smiled, the wrinkles of her face and the thinning of her hair invisible in that moment.

" _I bless you with luck and good fortune. May you have good judgement and fulfillment as husband, father, and king. My child, my beloved, and my someday king._ " The promise was in English, sealing the words in Maddie's own brand of magic and mystique. Elfwine kissed her cheek and left to greet his bride, holding his mother's spell in his heart.

After the ceremony and dinner, when she was alone in her rooms, Maddie cried and Éomer held her and a new generation began in Middle Earth.


	38. Wedding Night (Boromir/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no champagne in Middle Earth, but wedding nights are just as exciting.

Champagne didn't exist in Middle Earth, but there was an equivalent, celebratory drink that was like a sweet, fruity white wine that tasted a bit like cider. Until you woke up.

The wedding had been beautiful, Maddie was assured. She didn't stumble down the aisle, everyone thought her white dress was super sheik, and she hadn't made a fool of herself at the dinner. But that damn drink everyone had been constantly pouring made the whole day a lovely blur. Except for this part of course.

"I do believe you were sewn into this dress," Boromir said, fumbling with the fifteenth button. Maddie was sitting on the end of the bed, skirt hiked up around her thighs, giggling to herself. They'd both had a bit too much of that fruity wine, but dinner had been hearty and the high was wearing off into something much more natural and just as wonderful.

"Not quite, but nearly. Also, I'm disappointed we didn't consider using Thunor for the flower girl."

"Flower girl?" Boromir asked. He'd been schooled on a lot of Maddie's wedding norms, but not everything had made it into the tutorial. She'd gotten the white dress, the kiss, and the rings. He'd gotten the traditional Gondorian vows, the geese, and the three ceremonies (one for family, one for nobles, one for everyone else; Maddie thought it was ridiculous, but apparently it was traditional for a man of his bloodline).

Maddie waved the question away just as Boromir let out a sound of triumph and the dress slumped over Maddie's shoulders. She shrugged the fabric off only for it to catch on the corset. It wasn't really a corset, but it constricted her airflow and made her waist look tiny—it was a corset by her standards.

"I don't even remember how they got me in this thing," she mused.

"I'm happy to help you get out of it," Boromir replied, and Maddie turned to see his ruddy cheeks. Nothing indecent was showing, but his eyes skimmed down her long throat to the tops of her breasts, stuttering there before continuing down to the puffy skirt, which Maddie had done her best to make as un-Cinderella-like as possible. His hand came up slowly to push aside her hair from her throat, and he leaned in tentatively to kiss along the column. Maddie helped leaned her head back and sighed at the bristly feel of his beard and the sweet tingles each kiss sent up her spine.

His tunic was still in good shape, so Maddie used her free hands to help the kneeling Boromir out of it. First came the coat, then the fine grey vest, and then a lot of fumbling with the cuffed sleeves of what was surely a very nice shirt. Maddie, in her haste and inebriated state, ripped at least one loose from the fabric.

"Oops."

"I tore three of your buttons, so 'tis only fair."

"All's fair in love and war," Maddie agreed.

Then the shirt was off and for one blessed moment Maddie could appreciate what a lifetime of travel, fighting, and hard work made of a man. Until Boromir tipped her head up and kissed her.

She sighed into his kiss, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth as his big hands went around her waist. The dress was bunched up there, but the slightest brush of his thumbs against her lower ribs made her heart jump double-time. Maddie had seen porn; she'd had sex before; but suddenly it was all new and exciting with Boromir and she couldn't get her breath back.

The kiss got more heated, and soon he was standing up and pushing her back on to the bed, their lips never disengaging. It was actually hard to concentrate on their movements while kissing, so Maddie let Boromir lead and tried to destroy him from the inside of his mouth out.

They broke apart and Maddie pushed him panting back on the bed. Boromir immediately turned to his side and drew her down next to him. "We'll do cowboy style one day," Maddie vowed as she trailed curious fingers down his chest. He had some dark curls there, and she found she liked the texture, especially the way he shuddered the lower she got.

"Bull-man?" Boromir asked, his hands continuously running up and down her arm.

"Cow-boy," Maddie corrected without bothering to explain further. Instead she tugged on his pants. Boromir laughed and caught her fingers in his own.

"I thought I would be leading this charge," he said with a grin that made his eyes dance.

"What if I want to?" Maddie asked, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. His lips quirked up and Maddie smiled at him affectionately.

"'Tisn't proper," Boromir said, his words getting caught on another kiss. Then he flexed and sat up, fingers deftly undoing the cords at the back of the corset and sending the whole dress to pool at her waist and the corset across the room. "But you've never been proper."

Then Boromir shifted her dress lower and she didn't protest, lifting her hips to help him slide the fabric free of her body. When all the white cloth was gone, Maddie laid there in a silken petticoat that tied at the waist and nothing else, which was apparently doing things for Boromir. His eyes would not stop roving over the bared flesh, which was giving Maddie goosebumps.

"Pants," she said, tugging on his. There was no shyness on his part as he sprang free, now nuder than she was. Unlike the men of the modern Earth Boromir wasn't very self-conscious; probably because public bathing was common in Gondor, and among soldiers shared spaces were inevitable.

She didn't get to explore just yet though, as Boromir cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, guiding her back down. She let him, enjoying the feel of the muscles in his back as she ran her hands over him. This would be hers now to touch whenever she liked. Maddie smiled at the thought and just laid back to enjoy as Boromir kissed his way down her body, his fingers straying lower to strip away the petticoat until all the clothing between them was gone.

When he sat up to appraise her, Maddie could feel a dull blush spread along the top of her chest, and she twisted her legs a little to hide.

"There is no need to be shy," Boromir coaxed, lifting her hand up to kiss her fingers. "You are beautiful."

"I... it's just..." Maddie shook her head but didn't move, highly aware of all her visible skin. Suddenly all the stretch lines, red marks, big freckles, and love handles were all she could think of.

Boromir leaned in and kissed her belly, heedless of whether it was as flat as a models or as fat as a cherubs. "Beautiful..." he murmured.

Self-consciousness did not, sadly, melt away that fast, but action helped Maddie forget her nudity, so she sat up and encouraged Boromir to lay back. He looked like he wanted to laugh at her pushiness as he slowly leaned back on the pillows.

"You've done this before, I'm guessing," Maddie murmured. As she shifted to straddle him her breasts swayed and Boromir's eyes snapped right to them.

"I am not completely ignorant," he said, his hands settling on her hips. The calluses on his fingertips sent pleasant zings all up her body. His eyes were riveted to her breasts, which moved the slightest with each breath, and bounced a bit more as she shifted in place.

"Well me neither."

Maddie was half-expecting him to say something about that, but instead he rose up and muttered "good" against her lips before claiming them. His hands slid up her waist finally to cup her breasts, expertly rolling a nipple between those calloused pads. His attentions now were much more focused, and Maddie could feel herself getting wetter as Boromir nipped and licked. She barely even noticed as he gently lowered her back on the bed, his hips now nestled between her legs. She could feel the hardness of him, and when she brushed a thumb against his cheek he asked, "Are you ready? This may hurt."

"Wait, uh, fingers first! ...Please." She didn't mean to sound so scared, but it had been awhile and Maddie wanted this to be good. Boromir smiled softly at her, kissing her encouragingly then as his hand moved lower to rub at her folds.

She was already slick from kisses, touches, and play until now, so his first finger sunk in easily. Boromir even gasped at the sensation, probing a little to find the right spot. Maddie rolled her hips with the feeling and let him feel the spasm inside her. He thrust in and out a few times, and whenever his thumb brushed against her clit her hips would jerk a little.

"More," she groaned.

Boromir obligingly added another, and then eventually a third, until Maddie was sure her hips couldn't cant any higher. Boromir seemed fascinated with all this, even leaning back to watch her ride his hand. The way a little salty liquid dribbled from the head of his member showed how much it aroused him.

"Okay, okay, now Boromir," Maddie finally said, sure that if he kept teasingly brushing her most sensitive spots she'd cry before she came. When he pulled his fingers free Maddie felt herself clench with want as he curiously tasted what was left on his hands. His expression said he wasn't unaware of how that affected her.

"Now?" he asked, lining up. Maddie nodded and lifted her hips and he smoothly sunk in, almost to the hilt in one go. There was no condom between them, since they hadn't been invented, so there was nothing but heat-on-heat as he pressed deeper. Maddie had spent agonizing months trying to guess the safest time to have sex and time it with their wedding, and all that was paying off (she hoped).

Then his hips started to move and all was forgotten. It took a few thrusts and some shifting to find the right angle where he could slam in properly and Maddie could feel pleasure course through her with each roll of his hips. Within minutes all Maddie could feel were racing pleasure and hot breaths as they chased the peak. At one point she pried his hand from her hip and when he tried to lift it to her face she pushed it lower.

"Here, this it – it makes me –" she couldn't even finish the sentence when she showed him how to apply gentle pressure against her clit. The roughness of his big fingers was so good it made her throw her head back and moan, which made his thrusts stutter.

She wished she'd caught his expression in that moment, but her own eyes were shut tight with pure pleasure as moments later orgasm struck. It wasn't until she stopped shuddering and moaning that she could reach up Bormoir. Only then did she see the lingering euphoria on his face, his pupils blown so wide she could barely see any of the lovely grey.

"Never..." he murmured, beard rubbing against her neck pleasantly. He kissed her instead of finishing the sentence.

"Again?" she asked, and he laughed and rolled to lie beside her. Sitting up on one arm he assessed her, as though to be sure she was happy. Maddie licked her lips and smiled.

"Of course, milady," he replied, kissing away Maddie's laugh.


	39. Misteltan (Éomer/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brainbow on Tumblr requesting fluffy Eomer/Maddie and mistletoe

I puffed out a breath of warm air and watched the small cloud form in front of my face. It wasn't so cold that there was snow on the ground, but every morning I woke to crunchy frost and the sudden urge to fling a dozen more blankets on to my bed. Rohan was really cold in the winter and I had promised Éomer to work with the horses, which meant I spent all my waking moments outdoors. I was constantly freezing.

Still the horses had to be walked to get some exercise, so I was tasked with taking them out around the paddock while the other grooms put down fresh hay and organized feed buckets. I only had two more to go but I'd lost all feeling in my hands and toes and was sure my nose had frozen right off. At least it beat shoveling dung.

I walked the mare around twice more, jogging a little to keep myself warm, before leading her inside the stables, which were only marginally warmer. All the horses had blankets, shaggy coats, and small stone basins were filled with burning coals to give them some semblance of warmth. I tugged the lead and the obedient horse followed me into her stall, circling it and shaking off the cold. If only I had a fur coat.

"Maddie! There you are! I thought you might wish to come and see this!" Éowyn came riding into the stable while shouting, ducking under the entryway as she was still atop her horse.

"What? Come and see what?" I asked, shivering. I was just starting to have hope I would feel my hands again today. Éowyn's fine coat included a fur collar and ruffs that mine sorely lacked.

"The tree!" Windfola snorted and jerked her head as though to also say come on.

"A tree? But the horses—"

"Éomer is outside too, you won't get in trouble. Come!" I gave her room to turn around and exit, and then when I stepped outside the stable she tugged me up behind her on to Windfola. I didn't really have the proper outfit for riding astride, so I did my best sidesaddle and tried not feel how any exposed bit of leg as the skirt moved turned to ice. We trotted out of the paddock to find Éomer was waiting at the entryway atop Firefoot, who pranced in place. He had a fur cloak on and thick leather gloves, and his cheeks were very rosy above that beard as he grinned.

"This is a tradition and a sign of good luck for the season," Éomer explained as we wound down the dirt roads of Edoras to the outskirts. "I thought you might like to see it for yourself."

"See what? A tree?" Thoughts of Christmas trees popped to mind, and I felt myself get a little excited. I hadn't celebrated Christmas in ages, not properly, and if they did bedeck a tree with decorations in Rohan it would be nice to see.

Éomer's long, shaggy hair trailed behind him as he picked up the pace outside the walls. He looked incredibly natural on a horse, and though I'd never told him he did remind me of how the Elves were with their horses. We curved down the short road to find a small crowd gathered by one of the scraggly, bare trees that dotted the plains of Rohan occasionally. The tree had no leaves or pines, no paper or wooden ornaments of any kind, and I felt a small well of disappointment open in me.

Then Éomer turned back expectantly to see my face and I forgot for a moment what we'd come to see. He looked so fierce in his armor, that to see him smiling and out of it was a welcome sight. "The tree," he said, waving at it.

Éowyn turned in her seat a bit to see me. "Do you see it? Near the top there, like a cloud."

What I saw was a dying tree with, at first glance, some kind of leafy hive on it. Squinting, I could make out some small berries, but it looked like a poofy bush had settled on one of the branches.

"What is it?"

Éomer laughed and patted Firefoot, who couldn't stay still at all. She kept shifting him forward and back beside the sedate Windfola. Éowyn was conferring with some villager about removing bits of the bush attached to the tree. "Tis misteltan. One of the few green things we see in winter's cold. A sign of life," he explained.

"It's…" I didn't really know what to say. It wasn't beautiful, and I had no idea what the modern equivalent of it was, so I paused so long in thinking that Éomer laughed again.

"You do not have to say a thing, _gást widsith_ , only look." Then he trotted away and I shifted my grip on Éowyn and my seat on the horse to get more comfortable. Eventually some of the men got together and managed to hoist a small boy into the tree, and with a knife and some shouts of encouragement, he cut the bush down. The whole thing came down like a heavy, leafy, tumbleweed, and immediately people began to break bits off.

Éomer reappeared a few minutes later with a handful, Firefoot circling us until I was facing Éomer, as he refused to stand still. "To lay before the fire," Éomer said to Éowyn, then something more in Rohirric. Then he offered me a sprig too.

I took it and turned it around in my hand, surprisingly recognizing it. "This is mistletoe!"

"Misteltan," Éomer corrected.

"No no, we have this in my home too. We call it mistletoe. We hang it above doorways in the winter and when two people walk beneath it they must kiss." I was inspecting the red and white berries on the bit Éomer had given me, wondering if I could tie it up somewhere, before I realized someone had said something. "What?"

"You hang it and kiss beneath it?" Éomer asked, sounding bewildered. "An odd tradition."

"A romantic one though," Éowyn chimed in. "I rather like that thought. Are there rules?"

I chuckled. "There's no rules really, just a small tradition." I held out the sprig above the head of Éomer's horse, and then leaned over to kiss the top of his head. Firefoot's ears flickered and he nickered when I pulled back. Éomer looked contemplative, and I had a suddenly fear of what Éowyn's face looked like.

* * *

We returned to the stables so I could finish my work, and I didn't see Éowyn or Éomer again for several days, caught up in chores and they with whatever went into running Rohan. I had tied my small sprig up above the barn cat's favorite sleeping spot, and whenever the cat was there I would come by and rub under his jaw a little but never dared to kiss. The cat was prickly and liable to scratch me if I tried..

Then one day when the weather decided to be nice and lay off the wind and blustery cold of the past weeks, Éowyn appeared with lunch. We sat by the deep-set fireplace at one end of the stable and ate merrily, she gleefully sharing stories about tricking her maids into kissing a passing bunch of guards when she hung the mistletoe outside her rooms. She had it now tied to Windfola's bridle.

"I was hoping Éomer might join us for lunch today, but he appears to be running late," she said with a small pout. "I do think when the weather clears we should take you jumping. He's an excellent teacher for that."

"Oh, I don't plan to be here too much longer," I said with a small sigh. "You know I have to get going." Éowyn frowned, but before she could comment the sounds of a horse trotting in could be heard, and then Éomer calling for us.

"Over here brother!" she called, and he appeared a moment later at the entrance to the stable, patting Windfola as he walked by. He wasn't wearing armor again, but instead layers of leathers and thickly knitted clothes to keep the cold out and that fine fur cloak. His lips were chapped though and his nose bright red.

"Even without the wind, winter is still cold here in the Riddermark," he commented, tugging a stool over and opening his side purse with his lunch. He'd barely gotten two bites in and I'd just swallowed a bit of cheese when Éowyn made a few clicking noises and clapped her hands.

"Perfect! Just as I hoped!"

"What?" I asked, and then realized Windfola was standing nearly on top of me. I thought the horse was merely looking for bread, but when Éomer lifted a chunk to offer to her, he saw it at the same moment I did.

"Misteltan," he murmured, shooting a look at Éowyn I couldn't decipher.

She smirked. "It's not right that you shared your tradition with us, Maddie, only to not partake. The misteltan is above you and Éomer so…"

It was indeed, and I could feel my cheeks heat up as we looked at one another. I'd certainly entertained thoughts of kissing him before, but not quite like this.

He didn't look like he knew what to do at all, so deciding to spare us all as much embarrassment as possible, I leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly, lingering just an extra moment. As I pulled back I saw how comically wide his eyes had gone.

"Tradition is satisfied," I declared, and hurriedly stuffed more food in my mouth before Éowyn got anymore ideas. My cheeks were burning and my lips were hot from where they'd touched the soft skin of Éomer's face, but I was gratified too that his face was looking a little red from more than just the cold.

* * *

Later that evening, as I put the last blankets on the horses and added a little tinder to the coals, I saw someone striding through the paddock to the stables.

"Hello?" I called, thinking it might be Dallin, but the shoulders were too broad, and then as he came into the firelight I recognized the long wavy locks and the beard. "Éomer?"

"You are warm enough, I hope?" He asked after a moment, coughing awkwardly into his fist.

"Yes, I've been alright. There's plenty of blankets and the fire." He'd never just come by like this before, and certainly not so late. "Aren't you retiring soon?"

"I am, I simply… that is I… I wished to see that you were well." I squinted up at Éomer, confused.

"I am. If this is about lunch today, the tradition is simply in good fun, and Éowyn was just being silly I imagine."

"Yes, she was," he murmured. "My sister as usual." And then he seemed to come to some decision. "Have you finished your rounds?"

"Only one more horse to do and then yes."

"Well I shan't stop you."

He didn't move though, so after a moment I decided to ignore whatever was going on and retrieve the blankets for the last horse. Thunor was, of course, so big that getting the blankets on him required me to pull out a stool and toss them over his broad back. By the time I'd done that and nervously avoided getting hit by his tail, Éomer had stocked the fireplace and his shadow waited for me. I hopped down and crossed out of the stable box only to stop short as Éomer stepped up to me.

"I know it is only a small tradition, but…" HIs gaze slid up slowly, and there I saw his mistletoe sprig tied in twine to the entryway to Thunor's box. He and I were now both caught under it. "I wished to do it properly."

I licked my lips before I realized it, and his expectant gaze turned a little hotter as he stared. Then Éomer was cupping the back of my head and drawing me up to his warm mouth, tasting of cider and the sharpness of the winter wind. As he pulled back a moment later, it was my turn to initiate, and I tugged him back down for a longer kiss, a little deeper and a lot wetter than the first. He grunted and enfolded me further in his arms, and I wondered how far this all might lead and whether "rolling in the hay" meant the same thing here, when something wet and most certainly not Éomer's tongue touched the side of my cheek.

"What the–!" I jerked back at the same time Éomer did, and then he began to laugh. He pushed Thunor's head away from where the horse was interrupted us, perhaps looking for a little lip-lock of his own or telling us to take it out of his box.

"Perhaps we should try this again somewhere else?" Éomer asked, choking back a laugh as he shut the door to the box.

"Yes, I'd like that," I smiled, boldly reaching out for his hand. "You know, my people also have a tradition of kissing at the start of the new year."

"Do they?" Éomer asked, looking quite pleased as he kissed the tips of my fingers. "I should hope to kiss you again before then, but I will not let that tradition be forgotten either."

I grinned, and we shared one more kiss before he slipped back away into the night. I didn't know I would have to leave Rohan so soon with no real goodbye a few days later, but I left a short message with Éowyn, shouted from the top of the wall of Rohan:

"Tell Éomer I'll try to be back for New Years and if I am not then he owes me a kiss!"


	40. Revelations (Erynion/Maddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddie has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found this ficlet yesterday on my tumblr and realized I'd never posted it! Sharing here to keep Maddie alive.

They settled in around the fire a day's ride from Leurbost after a dinner of river fish, enjoying the soothing smell of the burning wood and the whisper of wind in the trees. Maddie settled in to sleep, staring at the flames burning low and Erynion's profile as he laid staring up at the stars.

He looked hauntingly beautiful as usual, firelight flickering off his pale skin and gaze intense as he looked up.

Maddie stared and stared and then, as the lethargy of sleep and a long day's ride in the hot sun sunk into her muscles, she thought, _I'm in love with him_.

These kinds of revelations had no business sounding benign, but the thought came on slowly and inevitably, like a wave to shore, and the full meaning of it didn't hit her for several bleary seconds.

When it did though, she actually jerked on her bedroll like she'd been kicked, and Erynion snapped up into a sitting position.

"I'm fine, it's fine," Maddie said, voice sounding remarkably normal for how fast her heart was going.

Erynion looked down at her from across the fire, and Maddie felt her breathing stutter with how beautiful his eyes were. Her cheeks flooded with heat. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit_. There was no way he wasn't going to find out how much time she spent thinking about him, now that she was aware of just how much thinking, staring and daydreaming she did about him. Ignorance had been bliss, truly, Maddie thought as her cheeks flamed at his attention.

When he finally laid down again Maddie rolled to face away from him and looked out into the trees in the vain hope that some other beautiful face could spear her heart on a stick and take it away. Erynion was untouchable, an Elf who would long outlive her, and she couldn't escape him here. Worse, she didn't care about any of those things because they were together right now. Oh man, she was going to spend the rest of her life pining for him, even when she was old and wrinkly and he still had those stupidly full lips and endearingly condescending look he always gave her down his perfectly pointed nose.

Love came and went, she thought to herself stubbornly. She'd been in love with Cliff after all. Not quite like this, granted, but Cliff had given her warm fuzzy feelings when he smiled, and she'd been so excited to go out with him. Erynion only gave her warm fuzzy feelings when he was… doing really anything. He could be ignoring her the entire day and then he'd glance at her and Maddie would melt.

_Shit_ , she thought. _I'm in love with my Elf companion who probably only sticks with me because I'm pathetic and vaguely amusing._

Maddie rolled back over, putting her back to those thoughts at literally as possible. That was the wrong way to think about this. Okay, so she was in love with Erynion. Fine. He stuck with her for his own reasons, but he had to like her enough to do it otherwise he wouldn't be wasting his infinite time on her. That was something. So, she'd just love him like a friend and try to control the staring from now on.

Her eyes lifted to him almost inevitably. He was still laying there on his bedroll looking up at the sky, and Maddie tamped down on the urge to say something to make him look at her again. Admiring from afar. That's how it was going to be from now on, she told herself. Her heart wilted a little at the thought, but she could hardly ask him to give up eternity to putter around with her. Love really did suck, she realized, staring at a face she'd never get to kiss. No wonder sacrifice and love went hand-in-hand.


	41. The Kinseys Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: I kind of want a ficlet where Maddie runs into the Kinseys years later (after becoming Mrs. Boromir) at a formal event or something and they get super awakened about it. ...okay so maybe I just want to see them squirm.

I nodded and smiled at the next couple who came over to greet Boromir and I, bobbing my head like a doll. We'd been at this since the beginning of the party, forced to attend because Faramir and Eowyn were hosting and Boromir and I were (inconveniently) in Minas Tirith. I'd tried to snatch a second glass of wine after the first hour, but Boromir had caught me, looped my hand in his arm, and marched me off to play nice with the nobility.

"That's very gracious of you," Boromir was saying, and when the noble's wife looked at me I pasted another smile on my face. "We've heard of the beauty of those lands, but my wife has yet to see it."

I nodded along again, wondering exactly how many times I'd done that. Boromir extricated us from that conversation and I immediately tugged on his arm when we were out of earshot. "How much longer must we stay?"

"At least until the roast and dinner are set out," he replied, beard tickling my ear. "I do not wish to linger after that though either."

We shared a short smile, and just as I was about to pull my arm free and mingle on my own again I turned and made eye contact with Mrs. Kinsey.

She had aged some since I'd last seen her, all those fateful years ago working in her household. Now she had crowsfeet at the corner of her eyes and her satiny black hair was started to go gray at the roots. She would have looked more elegant in her stately grey dress if she hadn't gone grey herself at the sight of me arm-in-arm with one of Gondor's most powerful men.

Her husband noticed her attention had left their companions and turned himself, lips flattening and face going taut as he took in the image we made.

Boromir put his hand on my arm and leaned into me. "You know them, Maddie?"

Mr. Kinsey and I made eye contact a second later, and he clearly wished he could break decorum and ignore us. Protocol and politeness won out though.

"Milady, Lord Prince Boromir, it is an honor to be here tonight," Mr. Kinsey said stiffly, his cheeks flushed when he met Boromir's eye. His bow was a bit jerky as Mrs. Kinsey joined him, though her face still hadn't regained its color.

For the life of me I couldn't remember his first name or title. "Boromir, may I introduce the Kinseys. I served in their home when I first arrived in Minas Tirith."

Boromir's eyes narrowed and Mrs. Kinsey cringed a little before her features smoothed out. "It's our pleasure," she murmured, demurely looking away.

I had no idea what to say really, given how much our rankings in society had changed. While I hadn't cared much for the Kinseys and their handling of my service to their house, I didn't hold a grudge either.

"I'm glad to see you're both well," I finally said, glancing at Boromir for help. "And your children?"

Mrs. Kinsey's eyes darted behind us. I snuck a look around but no one was paying us much mind. We were just greeting nobles at a party full of them, like we'd been doing all night.

"They are well," Mr. Kinsey replied after a short pause. "We are glad to see you well too."

I floundered for a topic since the Kinseys were still standing in front of us, shoulders curled slightly inward. I was pretty sure they couldn't excuse themselves from our presence without it being a slight, but my mind had gone completely blank on how to escape them too.

"Have you met my husband before?" I could have smacked myself the moment I asked it, because that was the opposite of removing myself from the conversation. My cheeks went a bit red as Mr. Kinsey answered.

"We have not. It is our honor to meet one of the heroes of the war." Both nodded their heads again, and I wondered if that vacant action had looked the same on me for the last hour.

"A pleasure," Boromir said with exactly as much grace and formality as required and not a bit more. The Kinseys twitched a little, possibly interpreting his curtness as a coolness for them. I, knowing Boromir quite well by now, knew that he had zero interest in this conversation and wasn't working to maintain it.

"I think we'll refresh our drinks," I said with a bit more cheer. I hadn't gotten to see the Kinseys squirm when Faramir confronted them after I'd left Minas Tirith before, so I was unashamed to say I enjoyed it now. "Good to see you."

Boromir followed my lead as I directed him back to the table with the fountain of wine on it. A little smile played on my lips.

"Not your favorite people?" he inquired, sounding amused.

"They aren't so bad, I've certainly worked for worse," I told him as I gathered a glass of wine for him and one for me. "But their faces when they saw you…" I'd keep that image for a rainy day.

Boromir clinked his glass with mine and chuckled. "To the people on the journey you leave behind."


End file.
